


Daughter

by Catherine_Medici



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Incest, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 40
Words: 106,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherine_Medici/pseuds/Catherine_Medici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red has spent a decade strengthening his criminal empire. He’s finally in a position where he can be a father to his 14 year old daughter again. Red returns to Lizzie, taking her from Sam, and their relationship gets frighteningly twisty.  TRIGGER WARNING, INCEST, UNDERAGE SEX. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An exploration of personal issues. I sincerely suggest you use your own judgement on reading this. I don't mean this story to be titillating but there will be graphic scenes. Unbeta'd

 

 

* * *

 

“I want her back, Sam.”

His old friend looked at him in shock, trembling in the living room of their small apartment. His eyes were wide in disbelief, his skin like parchment, leeched of all color and papery thin, almost translucent.

“You...you can't be serious. You gave her to me to raise. I adopted her. She's my daughter now.”

“You knew I wanted her to know her heritage.”

“Yes and I've told her all about her Russian roots! Knowing her heritage is very different from pulling the rug out from underneath her and telling her she has a new dad, so see ya later!”

“I'm not asking,” he said implacably, his heart aching at making an enemy of his oldest friend. But his heart had been torn out long before this day. He wanted his daughter back. His reason for living, his reason for doing everything he'd done to build his criminal empire since the night of that awful fire.

“Well, you aren't having her!” He said, beginning to shout. “Get out of my house.”

Red sighed. “Don't make this harder than it needs to be. I know exactly where she is now and I can have her taken from her friend’s house as easily as here and you'll never see her again. I'm offering you the chance to still be involved in her life.”

Sam swallowed convulsively, his hand reaching out for the wall, seeking stability while his head swam. “She'll hate you,” he said, his voice cracking. “Do you want that?”

Red smirked. “I've kept tabs. I know for a fact that she's pretty upset with you right now. Not letting her go to that party last weekend? Yes I know you were just being a good parent,” he said, nodding sagely. “But I'm perfectly capable of playing the permissive father until she comes round. She's my daughter Sam. My blood. I'm entitled to change my mind.”

Sam shook his head. “I won't let you do this.”

“I keep telling you. You don't have a choice. I've worked for the past decade to ensure I'm untouchable. The people who came for her that night won't touch either of us. I have something on them that would change the world if it were released. And I have money, Sam. I can give her the best of everything. I've got connections. She can be anything she wants to be, do anything she wants to do.”

“You can give her those things without taking her away from her father,” Sam shot back.

Red's face closed off. His friend wasn't listening. He didn't want to take her by force but he'd do it if he had to.

His daughter. His little girl. The only living child he had left. They'd taken so much from him but he'd kept her safe. He'd given her up to hide her from those who would harm her. But now no one would dare. He was a force to be reckoned with in the criminal world and a wild card to his enemies in the government. Too wild for them to risk blowing it all up. He had an arrangement with them and he'd tested it over the years. It was solid. It would hold.

He wanted to be a father again.

“You can have this afternoon to explain. I'll be here tomorrow for her. It's up to you how this plays out. If you love her, you won't cause her to fear me.” He paused, looking at Sam’s horrified expression. He felt compassion but he was determined. If Sam wanted to be involved in her life he was welcome to. He wouldn't even try and stop her calling him dad. As long as she understood that he was also her father.

He turned to leave, his heart heavy at the distress he'd caused. Necessary but regrettable, he thought sadly.

* * *

 

Lizzie paced the floor of the living room in their little apartment the next morning. She wanted to laugh. It felt like this had to be a trick. Was her dad mad at her? Was this the equivalent of threatening to leave the house without her when she was little and refused to get in the car because her favourite cartoon was on TV?

“So, you're just going to let him take me away?” She asked again in disbelief.

Her dad sat on the couch, his face grey with worry. “I can't stop him, Butterball. He's not...the man I knew anymore.”

She snorted. “You're going to let some random man kidnap me? You're not going to call the police? I'll kick him in the balls if he tries, you know that right?”

Sam smiled weakly. “That's my girl,” he croaked.

 _Jeez_ , she thought, a tingle of fear shivering down her spine. Her dad looked terrified.

Her head snapped around as they both heard a rap at the front door.

“Daddy,” she cried out, suddenly feeling very afraid. “I don't want to go with him.”

“Listen Lizzie,” he said urgently. “Let's just meet him first. He is your biological father after all. He won't hurt you. He would never hurt you.”

She looked into her dad’s eyes, anxiously scanning his face for tell-tale signs of a lie. He looked earnestly back at her. Well, he believed what he was saying at any rate.

Her dad went to answer the door. She sat in his armchair in the corner of the room, gripping the chair arms tightly. Her position in the room trapped her in the corner but it also gave her a spot all to herself. He couldn't sit beside her or anywhere near her.

She watched the door as her father came back into the living room, followed closely by a man who made her blink. He was younger than she'd anticipated. He didn't look like someone's dad, with his dark blonde hair roguishly tousled, his shirt opened a little at the neck, showing off a peek of his chest hair and his full, sensuous lips open over his perfect teeth in a wide smile.

“Elizabeth,” he breathed, taking a step toward her, his green eyed gaze fixed on her.

She flinched away as he took a few more steps into the room and he stopped short, still looking at her as though she were his last meal.

“It's so good to finally meet you,” he said, his voice a deep, honeyed caress.

She eyed him suspiciously. “Dad says you're trying to kidnap me. I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“Lizzie, stop,” her dad said anxiously.

Raymond laughed easily. “Well, that's an exciting theory,” he flicked the button of his suit jacket casually open, sitting comfortably on the couch, meters from her, crossing his legs. His shoes were tan leather, shiny and expensive looking. She kept her eyes on the shoes, not looking at his face. “Sam, did you tell Lizzie about that time we convinced Marcia Compton to run away with us to join the circus?” He turned to Lizzie, smiling warmly. “We got as far as the next town over on our bikes, Lizzie. Marcia’s dad caught up to us and gave all three of us the hiding of our lives. Said we’d tried to kidnap his little girl. Oh my goodness, that's the closest I've ever come to kidnapping anyone I'm afraid.”

She flicked a look at her dad. He was smiling reluctantly. “Took me a week to sit down again without wincing and my dad gave me a hiding after I got home as well,” he admitted.

Raymond leaned forward on the couch, uncrossing his legs. “I'll just bet you're a spitfire like Sam was, Lizzie. If I had a dollar for every time we got into trouble...well,” he grinned. “I'd have a few more dollars, that's for sure.”

She cleared her throat nervously. “So you're my dad then?” She asked hesitantly.

He nodded slowly. “I'm afraid there's a bit to the story and there are some things neither Sam or I can tell you for your safety but yes, I'm your biological father,” he said, looking a little nervous as he declared himself to her.

“Dad said my mom died in the fire where I got this,” she said, holding her scarred palm out to him. “Who was my mom? Why did you give me up?” She looked at him, feeling hostile. Her dad had always told her that her birth father would contact her when she was eighteen but hadn't said more than that. So why was he here now?

“I think those are questions for another day,” he said, smiling. “For now, would you be interested in taking a trip with me? I'd love the opportunity to get to know you. More than anything,” he said solemnly. “I was thinking beach but we could do mountains. Islands? Heck, we could do Disneyland but you're probably beyond the age where that would hold your interest.”

She felt a surge of curiosity. He wanted to take her on a holiday? She looked over at her dad who was standing near the door tensely. “What are you saying Ray?” Sam asked belligerently. “I want this to be really clear. Are you saying you'll bring her back to me?”

He laughed incredulously. “Sam, you've done a marvellous job bringing my little girl up. I'm not going to _kidnap_ her. Goodness! What happened to the level headed friend I knew? You're not going to deny your daughter an overseas holiday are you?”

Sam screwed his mouth up sourly. “She doesn't have a passport,” he said.

“Won't need one,” Raymond responded promptly.

She frowned. “For an overseas holiday I'm going to need a passport,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “Are you stupid or something?”

He laughed delightedly. “No, precious girl, just rich and powerful. I fly...under the radar.”

Oh, her curiously was fully fledged now. She glanced at her dad again. “Can I have some time to talk to my dad about this?” She asked.

He glanced at his watch. “Alright, five minutes. My plane is departing shortly. You have just enough time for a quick chat and to pack your bags.”

He stood from the couch, “I'll be in the car then,” he said, “unless you want help packing?”

She shook her head, dazed at this whirlwind of a man. He seemed to think this was a sure thing and the force of his personality and charm had her half convinced it was going to happen. That she'd actually leave with him.

She looked to her dad as Raymond left the house. They both appeared to be groping for something to say.

“It’ll be fun,” he said lamely. ”And you can call me every day. Just give him a chance Butterball. He was my best friend for years. There’s still a lot of ‘ole Ray left there. He’s had...a rough time of it. He probably won't want to talk about it but he was injured pretty bad getting you out of that fire.” He passed a hand over his face wearily. “I’m sorry hon, I wish I’d told you so much of this a lot sooner. I just...thought I had time.”

She felt an odd excitement. He was her dad, he was mysterious and kinda cool looking. He looked like a playboy, he was rich and wanted to take her on a holiday and he might give her some answers about the fire and her mom.

“I think I’ll go,” she said slowly. “I mean, it is the summer holidays and If I don’t like him, I can always come home right?”

He gave her a pained look. “Just do your best to get along with him,” he said.

Well. This was going to be an adventure.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Why don't I need a passport?” She asked, lugging her suitcase along behind him onto the plane.

“Because I'm a criminal and I use bribery and intimidation to get what I want with minimal to no questions asked,” he said baldly.

She stopped halfway inside the plane as he said this. He turned around looking at her stalled half in, half out. She gave him an appraising look. “My dad’s probably better at being a criminal than you,” she said boastfully.

He laughed at that. A deep, hearty chuckle. She preened. She'd made him laugh.

“Lizzie, Sam is probably the most talented thief I know alive today. So if success is measured by how skillfully you can remove a man’s gold watch or a woman's diamond earrings, he'd have me licked for sure,” he acknowledged handsomely.

“He taught me some things,” she said, testing the waters. Would he be angry that her dad had taught how how to steal?

“Yes?” He said, seating himself comfortably in a chair and reclining it.

She wandered over to a nearby seat, helping herself to a bottle of water sitting on a trolley off to the side. She noted the large assortment of expensive looking alcohol on the trolley. Gin, scotch, bourbon, cognac, and some sort of Japanese distilled spirit. She threw a look at him, wondering how far she could push him.

“Can I have a drink?” She asked.

“There's soda on the trolley if you want something other than water,” he responded, giving her a knowing smile.

“Yeah but, can I have a _drink_ drink,” she said, gesturing to the top shelf of the trolley where all the alcohol sat. “My dad lets me,” she said craftily.

He laughed. “I doubt that. But perhaps you can have a glass of prosecco when we arrive in Naples.”

She raised her eyebrows. “We’re going to Italy?” She asked skeptically. “Does my dad know?” He'd talked briefly with her dad while she'd been packing her suitcase. He'd gone out to the car and hadn't said what they'd spoken about.

“He knows,” Raymond said smoothly. “Sit, a light lunch will be served soon.”

She sat across from him, watching him cagily. He seemed ill at ease and was watching her in return, his face showing genuine interest in her every movement. He watched her like a hawk watches its prey, drinking in her every move.

It was creepy. But it also felt kind of flattering.

Before long, a steward came from the back of the jet, rolling a trolley that held a selection of sandwiches and cakes. She picked out one of almost everything, wolfing her food down. She noticed Raymond kept to a glass of the fine cognac and didn't eat much at all.

“Not hungry?”

He grimaced, placing his glass on the tray in front of him. “Perhaps I'm just fortifying myself. A bit of Dutch courage as they say,” he huffed a laugh, smiling pleasantly at her in a way that made her insides squeeze oddly. “I'm more nervous than I thought I would be.”

“Nervous? Of me? Why? I don't bite,” she said easily.

“It's been a long time Lizzie, and I want things to be perfect. Will you do something for me?”

“What?” She asked guardedly.

“Can I hold you?” He requested in a low voice. “Just for a moment. I've…I’ve held you before, when you were a baby, when you were my little girl.”

Her skin prickled uncomfortably at his words. He was so intense, she didn't know what to think. She wasn't someone who felt comfortable hugging just anyone. Only her dad, her grandma and her best friend Candice got physical affection from her. Not even her aunt June got hugs at Christmas time. She was funny that way.

And now here was a virtual stranger asking to touch her. She didn't want to.

“No,” she said, unable to keep the discomfort out of her voice. “I don't feel...I mean I just-”

“It's fine,” he interrupted shortly. “We’re still learning each other. I understand.”

But he didn't look happy.

The rest of the flight consisted of Raymond reading a book in silence and Lizzie wandering up and down the aisle and making friends with the steward, a friendly Icelandic girl who chatted to her for a few hours about boys, celebrities and places they had traveled.

Lizzie hadn't been out of the state as far as she knew. Her dad had told her that her mother had been Russian but she assumed her mother had been Russian American or at least living in America when she was born. She wondered about that now though. She hadn't banked on her biological father being a rich and powerful criminal.

It didn't bother her that much, knowing he was a criminal. After all, so was her dad. He made a living from it. They'd moved around the state a fair bit until just last year, when her dad had insisted they settle down and she take her schooling seriously.

But she'd lived the life of a hustler long enough to be fairly comfortable knowing her biological parent was one too...just on a different scale.

She returned to her seat, watching him read for a few minutes until he looked up.

“Do you need something?” He asked politely.

“What kind of criminal are you?” She asked with all the bluntness of youth.

He raised an eyebrow, putting his book to the side. “A successful one, why do you ask?”

“Well I just wondered is all. How come you gave me to Sam?”

It was the first time she'd called him Sam instead of her dad. He responded well to it, stretching out a little in his chair, the lines of his body relaxing just a tiny bit. “I had enemies, Lizzie, and you were in danger. Suffice to say, you were safe as far from me as possible. I regret that you grew up without me...but Sam kept you safe. That was the only important thing for me...for you to be safe.”

She nodded. It made sense she supposed. “What kind of enemies?”

He frowned. “It's irrelevant now. And the less you know, the safer you are. What matters now is that I can offer you a stable life again. There are doors I can open for you as you grow up. You have so many opportunities now and you'll be safe with me,” he said, his voice taking on an enthusiastic tinge.

“But this is just a vacation, right?” She said urgently. “You're bringing me home. You said to my dad that you would.” She was gripping her armrest in alarm, her body had tensed and she looked ready to dart away, although where she could have gone, neither of them knew.

“Put your seat belt on Lizzie, we’re coming in to land,” he said. Her caught sight of her mutinous expression and added, “I'm not going to keep you prisoner if that's what you're worried about. If you want to go back to Sam, you can, of course.” He belted himself up and didn't say any more to her until they landed.

* * *

 

The first thing she noticed was the heat. It was like an oven, burning bright and hot. She was envious of the sunglasses her father whipped out. He looked cool, calm and collected, while she felt like a sweaty, disheveled mess.

She realized that she had started to think of him as her father somewhere along the way on the plane. It was strange. Sam didn't feel any less her father. It was like she had room for both men and Raymond was just settling into the space she didn't know she'd had.

She was so tired by the time she'd gotten into the car at the airport that she barely had the energy to muster interest in the blatant bribery going on under airport officials noses. He didn't even bother landing the plane in a rural or abandoned airstrip, brazenly flying into Naples airport.

“It's Naples Lizzie,” he said, smiling smugly. “Mafia run this place. We can do what we want as long as we have the money to pay for it.”

And he had. He was throwing bribes left and right, smoothing their way straight to a villa on the Amalfi coast. It was dark by the time the limousine deposited them at their destination. She had never been anywhere further than an hours plane ride away so a flight and car ride that had taken over ten hours had wrung her out so completely that she drooped on the doorstep.

She felt sudden and unwarranted tears surfacing. “I wanna go home, I think,” she sniffled as he saw her inside.

“But we've just arrived, Lizzie,” he said in consternation.

“I don't care,” she wailed, dropping her suitcase heedlessly on the floor. “I want...I want my own bed,” her tears were running hot down her face and she forgot she'd told him no, she forgot she didn't hug people she didn't know well. Her defenses were down as her father gathered her into his arms and held her as she cried, standing in the hallway of the villa. She burrowed her face into his chest so she didn't see the housekeeper approach them or Raymond wave her away.

He was enjoying this. He was surprised to realize it but a tearful Lizzie was balm to him. He could comfort her, like he had when she was his baby girl. He urgently signaled for the housekeeper to retreat, a ferocious frown on his face. He didn't want the woman to spoil the moment with his daughter.

He soothed her with honeyed promises of a boat trip out to the islands the following day. Of a private beach and jet skiing, fresh seafood and piping hot pizza.

“Sshh, precious girl, shh, you're just tired Lizzie. Let's get you to bed,” he said, his arms around her, supporting her sagging frame to a bedroom on the lower floor. “Here,” he said comfortingly. “Here's your bed, lie down now. We’ll have fun tomorrow, you'll feel so much better then,”

She curled up on the soft bed, fully clothed with her shoes still on and fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

 

It was hours later that she woke up, according to the clock radio on the night stand. The room was still dark. She was startled to find that her shoes had been taken off and she was in her pajamas. She flushed hotly. He must have undressed her while she was asleep. She felt embarrassment but weirdly no anger, just a strange and unsettling loneliness. She was alone in an unfamiliar bedroom in a massive house. She didn't know where the bathroom was or where her father was and she wasn't sleepy anymore. She felt restless.

She went in search of him, banging about on furniture until her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

She had wandered down a hall and around a corner, poking her head into a few empty rooms before she found him.

She’d been making enough noise that he'd woken up and called out to her from a bedroom.

“Lizzie, are you alright?” He called.

She stood in his doorway, the faintest sliver of moonlight from the window illuminating his bed. She could just see him, a mound under the covers.

“I can't sleep,” she whispered to him, still standing awkwardly in the doorway of his bedroom. “Can I come in with you?”

He was silent for a moment. “Come on then,” he said in a sleep roughened voice, flipping back his sheets.

She slipped into bed beside him gratefully, snuggling into him as he put an arm loosely around her.

It was nice to be held after all.

****  
  



	3. Chapter 3

The housekeeper was a lovely old nonna called Fabiana who only spoke Italian and Neapolitan. Raymond was able to communicate given his reasonable grasp of Italian but he was aware that Lizzie didn't speak a word of the language.

He hadn’t intended to isolate her with only himself to talk to but he was surprised at how good it felt to have her need him, to be reliant on him. He bitterly regretted his missed years with her, ashamedly admitting only to himself that he resented Sam for all the time he had to make special memories, to create a childhood for his daughter. It should have been him at her birthday parties, hoisting her onto a pony on their summer vacation, slipping coins under her pillow when she lost her first tooth. He’d lost it all. He was treading so carefully now, painfully aware that his own flesh and blood was a little afraid of him and certainly didn’t feel any affection for him yet.

He’d been extraordinarily encouraged when she cried in his arms the night before. It was something at least.

He looked out onto the ocean now, cup of coffee in hand. He’d been awake for hours, but then he was used to jet lag. Lizzie would probably sleep a while longer, her little body curled around the extra pillow he’d left her with to replace his warmth in the bed.

His thoughts wandered to her sleeping form in the bed he’d deposited her into when they’d arrived. He had thought he was doing the fatherly thing in removing her clothes and putting her pajamas on. It was what he’d done with her as a four year old. It had only been when he pulled her top over her head that he realised with uncomfortable shock that his daughter had little budding breasts. She wore a bra, his little girl. He couldn't quite account for why he hadn't noticed this before.

If he were brutally honest, he knew he was seeing his girl through rose colored glasses. Still seeing his baby when actually she was a young woman.

By the time he’d realised it was quite possibly inappropriate to be undressing his teenage daughter, he already had most of her clothes off and it would have been just as strange or stranger to put them all back on again. At least if she had any half awake memories of this, she would understand he was only getting her ready for bed.

His daughter had breasts. Pale pink nipples and the gentle swell of milky white flesh. His daughter.

He shook his head slightly, anxious to dispel the image. It was natural to be a little surprised. She’d gone from a tiny four year old to a tall, pubescent fourteen year old.

He clenched his fist around his cup of coffee, taking a short, sharp breath, inhaling the salty sea air. Life was going to be good. He had his Lizzie.

* * *

 

The smell of bacon and eggs was what woke her. A delicious breeze wafted in from the open window. Her dad must have opened the window when he’d gotten up.

She looked about herself now, all groggy from jet lag. The color of the decor was largely blue and white. The bedspread was a rich, royal blue as were the curtains. The blinds were a pearly white and the four walls also were a clean, chalky color.

It was a relaxing scene to wake up to.

She followed her nose, ambling her way through to the kitchen, discovering the housekeeper monitoring the food over the stove and Raymond relaxing, sprawled out at the dining room table.

“Morning,” she offered sleepily.

His face lit up as she came into his view. She felt her stomach tighten at that. She didn't like feeling like someone else's happiness lay so particularly with her. It made her feel that every awkward action, every tone of her voice, every expression on her face had to be filtered so as not to wound or cause misunderstandings.

Who knew she would care so much?

“Would you like to go out on the boat today?” He asked.

She shifted on her feet, standing in the middle of the kitchen, her hands clasped together, fingers worrying at her scar. “Sure, but I don’t swim very well. I mean, I can swim,” she amended, “but not very far.”

“Comes of growing up in a landlocked state I suppose,” he said. “If you’d grown up with me-,” he began but stopped, looking troubled. “Anyway, it will be good practice for you. The weather is perfect. There's only a light breeze today. We can go and see the blue grotto,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

It was an awkward breakfast, she sat perched on the edge of her seat, scooping up her bacon and eggs hungrily, trying to answer his stilted questions about her schooling, her friends and what she liked to do for fun. Raymond also introduced her to Fabiana properly.

“She stays in the apartment at the back of the house,” he explained. “Her daughter and grandson live with her. Rosa takes in washing and Simon just finished high school. He's learning to sail so he can take tourists out and make some money.”

She perked up at that. Someone near her own age. “Can I go and introduce myself after breakfast?” She asked eagerly.

He frowned slightly but turned to Fabiana who was busily washing dishes at the sink. “Lizzie può andare a incontrare Rosa?” He said in glib Italian.

She nodded and smiled.

“There you go then. I'll take you over after breakfast. Perhaps Simon could come out on the water with us. He can help with the boat.”

It was a very excited Lizzie that followed him through the back door of the villa and around the side of their small courtyard to the squat little apartment where the help lived. She found it a bit odd, having ‘help’ but her dad seemed to take it as a matter of course so she kept her feelings to herself.

He rapped on the door, smiling widely when a woman who looked to be in her thirties opened the door for them. She beamed at Raymond, giving him a big kiss on both cheeks and exclaiming over him in broken English.

He said something very fast in Italian and she nodded enthusiastically. She turned and poked her head out of the kitchen door, where she could hear a faint thud of an axe. Someone was chopping wood in the kitchen garden.

“Simon!” She called out. “Vieni qui. Si può aiutare con del signore Reddington barca oggi.”

The noise of the axe ceased and a moment later a tanned and muscled boy came through the kitchen door. He had curly, dark brown hair and forest brown eyes to match. His hair curled wetly to his head, sweat dripping off his brow. He was impossibly cute and Lizzie felt a flutter in her stomach and a terrible tongue tied awkwardness came over her.

“Lizzie, meet Simon,” her dad said, an odd tone to his voice. Perhaps she was blushing? _Oh god I hope not_ , she thought in mild panic.

Hi, I'm...yeah, I mean I'm Lizzie, of course, I mean that's what he said. So, yeah. Hi. I’m Lizzie,”

_Kill me now_ , she thought with all the self hatred her teenage heart could muster. How could she embarrass herself like this? What was wrong with her?

“Pleased to meet you, Lizzie,” he said in beautifully accented English. Her heart fluttered. She felt like a liquid, not a solid. He was _gorgeous_. He looked up at her dad. “Mr Reddington,” Simon said, grinning cheerfully. “Are we going out on the boat then?”

Her dad was chewing on the inside of his mouth, a slight crease between his eyes. “Yes, want a bit of practice?” He offered. “You can skipper for us today if you like.”

Simon agreed, keen to get as much experience with boats under his belt as possible.

* * *

 

Raymond looked up at the sky, out at the sea, anywhere but at his daughter. She had emerged that morning from her bedroom in a bikini, ready to go for a day on the water.

A bikini. Which she filled out just perfectly. He couldn't look at her without his eyes being drawn to the valley of her breasts. When she turned around and leant over the side of the boat, eagerly pointing to the dolphins swimming alongside them, he couldn't help but look at her bottom, her hips only just starting to curve into womanhood.

He felt odd. This was his little girl, his daughter. She was not a sexual being. At least not to him.

He smiled warmly at her as she laughed wildly up at the front of the boat, the wind in her hair, fluttering around her face like some exotic sea sprite.

She was a darling. He couldn't believe he finally had her back. He had to stifle his urges to catch her up and kiss and cuddle her til she squealed. He had treasured memories of doing that when she was a toddler. She'd squeal the loudest when he blew raspberries on her tummy.

He swallowed, imagining himself doing that now. It was a very different picture.

Grimacing, he passed his hand over his face, as if he were scrubbing away his thoughts. He was alarmed at the strange way he'd been thinking since he'd collected her from Nebraska. Perhaps he just needed to spend an evening with a woman, work some of his energy out. He could leave Lizzie with Fabiana one night soon and take Rosa out for dinner...it was a thought to file away for later. He'd like to go over and see what Lizzie and Simon were talking about, both stretched out at the front of the boat, their heads together.

“...my father is English, he and my mother divorced you see, when I was a little boy,” he overheard Simon relating his story. “He works at a school in Scotland now. I see him every second Christmas. It's good, no? To have family in different places. I have a cousin in Australia and an uncle in Brazil. It means I can travel, everywhere and have family to visit,” he said with enthusiasm.

“I haven't been anywhere,” Lizzie said wistfully. “I've always wanted to go to India and see the Taj Mahal and Paris for the Eiffel Tower.”

“You should have said so, Lizzie,” he broke in from his spot behind them, “we can go anywhere you like.”

Lizzie turned over from her spot in the sun, reclining back on her elbows to look at him. She gave him a calculating look. “You’d take me anywhere? What if I wanted to go to a different place every week? What about every day?” She said challengingly.

He snorted. “You’d get tired of that pace soon enough but I’m game if you are.” He stretched out beside her as he was speaking, unwilling to allow Simon to monopolize her any longer. He wanted his daughter to himself now. He wouldn't make the mistake of inviting others on day trips again any time soon.


	4. Chapter 4

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” Yelled Lizzie suddenly, cannon bombing into the water over the side of the boat.

She was so like her mother, he thought, his heart twisting. Full of mischief and cunning. He didn't usually allow himself time for maudlin thoughts but everything was different now. He wished he'd come for her a little earlier. Would it have made a difference to her if he'd come the year before? Or the year before that?

She bobbled up and down in the calm sea as he followed her in, jumping lithely over the side. “Looks like you're the rotten egg, Simon,” she laughed as she kicked her legs, shooting out, away from the boat. She wasn't the best swimmer, but she _could_ swim.

He followed her, his precise breaststroke easily catching up and overtaking her. He swam lazy circles around her, enjoying her giggles as she tried to race him and failed spectacularly.

He had swum out quite a way from both her and the boat, he realized, turning back around to her.

She had stopped racing him and was floating on her back, singing some silly pop song to herself. He grinned, an idea was forming.

He swam long, languorous strokes around her, coming in closer and closer. Then he dipped under the water, swimming underneath her and grabbed her by the middle, dragging her down briefly before letting her up again. He heard her shrieks even under the water. She hadn't flailed though, instead she gripped him tightly, wrapping her arms and legs around him like a vine. He erupted from the surface, gasping with laughter. She wasn't letting go, pressing herself against him desperately, half sobbing, half laughing.

“Stop it! Stop!” She yelped, water streaming down her face and into her mouth. She sputtered, holding onto him tighter, as though terrified she was going to sink.

Her arms were about his neck and her legs were wrapped around his waist. She was as tight as a clam against him. “Let go, sweetheart,” he said, laughing gently at her. “You'll sink us both.”

She loosened her grip on him but kept herself nestled into his body. This was interesting, this was new. She stared at him, their noses almost touching while he treaded water to keep them both afloat. He felt a painful rush of affection in his chest. He could see the freckles dusted across her nose. He wanted to count them, to become familiar with them.

“Why are you wearing a wet-suit?” She asked out of nowhere.

It blindsided him. He'd been self conscious dressing that morning, sure that she would ask immediately but she hadn't inquired at all, giving his sleeved wet-suit no more than a cursory glance. It was like she hadn't wanted to know.

But she was asking now.

“I have...old burn scars that are sensitive to strong light,” he said reluctantly.

“Dad said you were hurt rescuing me from the fire,” she said hesitantly, “did you get your burn scars from there?”

His lips thinned. Sam should have kept his mouth shut.

“I did,” he said shortly. _Please leave it there sweetheart_ , he pleaded silently.

“What happened?” She asked. “How did it start? Dad won’t tell me anything.”

Ah well, give a little, get a little.

“Do you think you could call me dad too,” he asked suddenly. “Not instead of Sam, but in addition to, and maybe I could see my way to telling you more about the fire.”

He had begun this hopefully but as he was speaking, her face had fallen and she disengaged from her grasp of him. “I have a dad,” she said, swimming a few yards away from him. “I don't need you. You abandoned me.” Her face was a picture of cool unconcern.

It was a fierce punch in the gut to hear her say it. It was true, but if he had his time over again, he'd make the same decision. She had been safe for ten years with Sam. His first few years on the run had been fraught with peril. He was still surprised he'd lived through it.

He took a large breath and exhaled slowly. This was going to take time. Baby steps first. She'd come round.

Simon was paddling out to them now, catching Lizzie’s attention. She playfully splashed water at him. “Raymond thinks he's a shark,” she said to Simon, “look out, he might drag you underwater!”

He winced at the use of his first name. She was trying to needle him. And he acknowledged to himself that it was working.

He smiled reassuringly at Simon, who was looking at both of them, an unsure expression on his face. He'd picked up the tension between the pair of them. It wasn't the boy’s fault that he had turned out to be an unnecessary third wheel on this trip.

“Simon,” he boomed heartily. “Go and get some of the snorkels from the boat and show Lizzie the underwater caves. She'll like that,” he said.

He observed how her ears pricked up at that and her eyes brightened.

The crystalline waters of the Amalfi Coast were the perfect setting for a snorkeling expedition. He watched, charmed, as Simon showed Lizzie how to use her snorkel, demonstrating by fitting his own mask. He was quick and experienced. Showing tourists the best snorkeling spots in the area was all part of his job and he did it well.

Red let Simon take the lead, happy to trail behind the two. He watched, fascinated with Lizzie's every reaction as she exclaimed over brightly colored schools of fish or a piece of coral.

“Be careful,” warned Simon. “Don't dive to the very bottom. “The anemones sting. You will not like it if you step on one.”

They snorkeled all the way to a cave glowing faintly.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, coming up for air and pushing her mask back over her head. “This is incredible. It's like magic!”

The cave was like a fairy grotto. They had to dive down a little to enter it and they came up again inside the cave, only half filled with water, a pocket of air allowing them to surface inside. The light from little holes in the cave walls was seeping in, causing the water to glow strange colors. She was right. It was magical.

The rest of the morning slipped through his fingers far too quickly. They had a picnic lunch on the boat, courtesy of Fabiana.

“My grandmother makes the best chocolate cake,” Simon boasted, his face stuffed full of cake.

“She does,” Lizzie agreed, licking her fingers delicately.

Even watching his little girl eat was a pleasure. He nibbled on his own food, stealing glances at her as she ate her fill, washing her food down with homemade lemonade, her throat working delightfully as she took large gulps of her drink, thirsty in the hot sun.

Her hair curled as it dried, stiff with seawater, tangled and brown, a crown of rich mahogany like a halo around her face. He itched to pull his fingers through it but was well aware the gesture would be unwelcome.

He satisfied himself with staring as she rose from her reclining position on the boat after her lunch. She looked ready to hop back into the water.

“Don't you think you should wait a little before getting back in,” he offered. “You've just eaten.”

She shot him a look. “I can do what I want,” she said challengingly, leaping over the side and into the water with a splash.

He probably should have seen that coming, he thought with a small sigh. He'd need to be a bit more strategic in his dealings with her. His heart cried out at the need for that. He wanted his daughter to love him and allow herself to be loved. But it was going to be more complicated than that.

* * *

 

“Can I call my dad?” She asked as they entered the villa, giving him a sidelong look filled with apprehension.

The tic in his face was working overtime. She was afraid of him. Despite her best impression of uncaring rebellion, there was something about the way she stood when he was too near her. A creeping unease in the lines of her limbs. His daughter feared him, not even just as a disciplinarian, but a far more insidious fear. He had to remind himself that she didn't know him yet. She couldn't possibly understand his deep seated motivation to keep her safe over all these years and the incredible well of love he had for her.

“Of course,” he responded easily. “You can go into the study off of the front room for privacy if you like. There's a phone on the desk.”

He crept into the main bedroom, quietly picking up the receiver on the other phone on the nightstand. What she didn't know, wouldn't hurt her. He was a former intelligence officer after all. If he didn't know what she was thinking, how was he supposed to make this a good experience for her? Eavesdropping was pretty low on the scale of things he was prepared to do.

“Dad!” He heard her practically yell into the phone.

“Lizzie! I've been waiting for your call. How've you been, hon?”

“Yeah, it's been okay, I guess,” she said reluctantly. “He's really rich, isn't he?”

Sam was silent a moment. “I guess when I knew him he wasn't. He seems pretty well off now though. You sure everything's okay?” He asked, his voice uneasy.

“Yeah, it is. I just...he kinda stares at me all the time.”

Red heard Sam chuckle. “Butterball, I may not like the way he swooped in with his high handedness but I've never doubted you are the center of his universe. He's adjusting too, remember. I can't imagine what I would do if I were told I wouldn't see you again for ten years. I'd be in a state, I can tell you now,” he said.

She snorted into the phone. “Well, he's nice to me anyway. He wants me to call him dad.”

“Does he now,” said Sam, sounding displeased. “Well you can tell him from me that when he's seen you through bed-wetting in kindergarten and that little stunt you pulled with your baby teeth, _then_ maybe he can think about being called dad.”

“Ewwww, daaad,” she complained. “Don't remind me. God, that's gross.”

“Not as gross as finding teeth in your jewelry box a year after you lost them.”

She giggled. “I thought the tooth fairy was a thief. I didn't want money. I wanted to keep my first teeth.”

“You're a feral child,” he returned fondly. “What am I gonna do with you, kiddo?”

“Hey dad,” she said excitedly, “I went snorkeling in an underwater cave today. There's this guy, Simon, and he showed us these caves that you have to dive down to get to and there are pockets of air in the cave so you can swim around in them and there are like these holes from the sides of the cave that light shines through so it's all cool and glows all blue and green and stuff.”

“Wow,” he said admiringly. “Sounds like you had an adventure. Jet lag got to you yet?”

“Nope,” she said smugly. “Well, maybe a little. I slept in this morning but I don't feel so tired now. Raymond is gonna take me down to the village for dinner. He's trying to convince me that garlic is yummy. But ever since Aunt June made me have that hot water and garlic drink when I had a cold that time, I've hated it. I bet I'll hate dinner,” she said earnestly.

“Lizzie...hon,” he began, sounding troubled, “you don't have to convince me that you dislike him or that you love me. I know you love me, kiddo. I'm not so insecure that I have problems with you getting to know your dad okay? In fact,” he said hesitatingly, “maybe you could try calling him dad. Give it a go maybe?”

“No,” she said sullenly.

He exhaled into the phone, a loud noise in her ear and Raymond's, if she had only known it.

“Look, butterball, maybe you need to give him a chance. He does love you. You know that right?” He asked anxiously. “You know he's my oldest friend. Just because I haven't seen him in a long time doesn't mean I don't miss him. We've been best friends since before we were toilet trained.”

She huffed a laugh. “I'll tell him you said that. I'm sure he'd love to hear about you talking about his toilet training.”

“Lizzie,” Sam warned. “Don't be a brat. You know better than this. If you're not getting along with him, tell me and you can come home, but don't torture the man just for the fun of it, alright? He has feelings too.”

She sighed huffily. “I'll be nice, I said I would, didn't I?”

“Yes, well…” He said, sounding unconvinced.

“Okay dad, I gotta go. Simon wants to show me the boat down at the marina he's saving up to buy, love you, bye bye,” she said in a rush, putting the phone down with a click.

Red quietly placed his own receiver down on the hook, unsure of how he felt about the conversation. He was pleased about his friend’s support, although he'd been momentarily furious over Sam baulking at Lizzie calling him dad as well.

Overall, it seemed she was happy. He'd have to keep tabs on how long he looked at her though. It was hard not to want to just stare at her all day. His daughter, his Elizabeth, in the flesh. She was captivating.

But he wasn't doing himself any favors, acting moonstruck over her.

He hoped she'd like the garlic in the spaghetti sauce. It was amazing.


	5. Chapter 5

“I feel like I've been here for ages,” Lizzie sighed contentedly, walking along the boardwalk after dinner with Raymond. The stars were brighter than at home, even with a large half moon peeking through the occasional cloud.

“It is a little paradise,” he agreed. “Time slows down here.”

She looked up at him. They'd just exited a gelateria, cones in hand. Lizzie had selected raspberry and chocolate. Raymond had gone for pistachio and salted caramel.

He had a little bit of gelato on his nose. She rolled her eyes theatrically. “You're just like my dad. He can't eat ice cream without making a mess. One time he grew a moustache and every time he ate ice cream I had to look away. It was _so_ gross,” she declared.

He laughed at her, wiping his nose. “I'll keep it in mind, Lizzie doesn't like messy eating,” he teased. “What else don't you like? There’s a lot I don't know.”

She considered, her head cocked to the side like a little bird. “Well, I don't like pumpkin,” she said thoughtfully, “and dad said I hated mushrooms when I was a kid but I like them now.”

“Do you like French food?” He asked. “We can go to Paris next week if you like. We can go tomorrow if you really wanted to.”

She eyed him, withdrawing into herself a little. It was unnerving to be told she could go anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat. She could see that he thought it would excite her but all it was doing was making her ache for familiarity. As much fun as she was having, she missed her summer vacation tradition of late night movie marathons with her dad. They'd sit up until the small hours of the morning watching movies until she fell asleep on the couch. When she was a little bit smaller, he'd pick her up and take her to bed and she'd wake up safe and sound with her quilt all soft and heavy over her.

“I haven't really tried French food,” she said hesitantly. “Like snails and frogs legs and stuff?”

“Well yes, that's always fun to try once, but more like Nutella crepes and soufflé or chateaubriand. I'd love to see what you thought of all that.”

She licked at her cone, not sure at all what to make of him. She was secretly a little thrilled that this man, with his form fitting leather jacket and movie star sunglasses was trying so hard to please _her_. He cared about what she liked to eat, what she liked to do, what movies she watched and music she listened to. It made her feel so powerful. Her dad was probably right, she thought uncomfortably. He knew how she could be sometimes. She was tempted to make it hard for him, to hurt him a little just because she so obviously _could_.

“I'd maybe like to try that,” she said, remembering that she'd promised her dad she'd be nice. And it wasn't so hard to be nice to him really.

She wondered what he really thought of her. Under all his charm and graciousness, did he find her boring? Was she really as fascinating as he was making her out to be? She didn't feel special, but he treated her like she was.

It was...nice.

* * *

 

“So you said that you and Sam have a movie marathon tradition,” he said diffidently.

They were back at the villa. She'd admitted the tomato and garlic pasta sauce had been wonderful. Very different to anything she'd tasted before. It was late though and she'd just changed into her pyjamas.

He was in the cosy living room, a load of video cassettes piled up in his arms. “I know it's not the same thing, but I'd be happy to stand in and watch some movies with you...if you like?”

The expression on his face was strange. He looked shy and hopeful and also prepared for the knowledge that she was likely to say no, to reject his presumption. The tradition was something between her and her dad.

But then she caught sight of the movies he was holding. Some of them were comedies, some were dramas that she'd seen before. But there were a couple of R rated horror movies her dad had refused to allow her to see.

“If I say yes, can we watch that one?” She said, pointing to the most horrific slasher movie of the year. “And that one?” She asked, pointing now to another horror movie that had given all her friends at school some thrills. Her dad could be overprotective. She was prone to nightmares, always had been. So he was extra careful about what he let her watch.

It had been a bone of contention with them more than once. He never let her watch stuff her friends were allowed to watch. It was ridiculous.

He scanned the titles, his forehead wrinkling a little. “Does Sam let you watch these?” He asked uneasily. “I haven't looked at them yet. I asked Simon to pick me up some videos that you might enjoy...but these seem...a bit violent,” he muttered.

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you don't want to watch them, you shouldn't have bought them,” she said icily. Oh god, he was an amateur, she thought gleefully as his scowl deepened. He wasn't going to miss out on more time with her over the choice of movie.

Yeeeess.

They settled into the couch, Lizzie at one end and Raymond at the other. He put _I Know What You Did Last Summer_ into the VCR. This was going to be awesome.

She sat with baited breath, growing more and more tense as the movie went on. This was...this was something else. She felt a bit queasy actually. And the shadows playing across the living room in the semi dark were making her a little nervous.

“Can we turn more lights on?” She asked finally, halfway through the movie.

He gave her a considering look. “Are you sure you want to finish this? We could watch _Home Alone III_ instead? Or _Good Will Hunting_ ,” he suggested.

“No, those are stupid movies,” she said resentfully. “You don't know anything about anything.”

“Alright, it was just a suggestion,” he said mildly.

What would it take to anger him? She wondered. He didn't seem to react when she was rude to him. He can't have a limitless supply of good humor, surely.

She watched as he got up to turn a light on, silently settling himself back down onto the couch.

She let a few minutes pass before she felt guilty enough about the way that she'd spoken to him that she felt she had to say something.

“Thanks,” was all she said.

She saw his answering smile from the corner of her eye.

Ten minutes later, her heart was racing in her chest. This movie was awfully stressful. There was a blonde girl and the killer was in her _house_ and had cut off her _hair_ and jeez this was scary. She found herself chewing on her nails, which she hadn't done for years. Her legs crept up off the floor and onto the couch, tucked underneath her. She wanted her feet where she could see them. It was easy to think that something could jump out at her at any moment.

She glanced over at Raymond who was watching the television with an amused twist to his lips. He didn't seem to find it scary.

“You're not scared?” She asked over the dialogue.

He laughed. “I've had stranger things than this happen to me in real life, it's not that scary, no.” He looked over at her, eyeing her curiously. “Are you scared?”

“No,” she said. “I just wondered if you were.”

He nodded, accepting her word. But she noticed after that he was starting to steal glances at her, more and more as the movie went on.

It was past midnight, when the movie ended to her surprised yelps.

He laughed at her. He was _laughing_ at her.

“Shut up,” she said crossly, reaching for _Scream 2_.

“Oh, come now,” he said, his eyes widening. “Are you sure we need to watch another horror movie? There are heaps of funny ones, or even sad ones if you feel like a tear jerker.”

She made a face. “I like horror movies. No one said you had to watch them with me,” she said stonily.

He sighed. “We can watch whatever you want to, sweetheart. I just thought…” he trailed off, looking stuck for words.

“What? That I'm scared?” She scoffed. “That's how horror movies work. You're supposed to be a little scared, dummy,” she threw at him, opening up the cassette box and pushing the tape into the VCR. He was being so stupid.

She didn't know why she was feeling these surges of irritation but she was really mad at him all of a sudden. He was dumb enough to let her watch this, he shouldn't be bleating about it now, as though he were her dad. He wasn't. Sam was her dad.

She collapsed back onto the couch, picking up a cushion and hugging it to herself. This movie looked a little less scary. It had Sarah Michelle Gellar in it again. She was one of Lizzie's favorite actors. _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ was the TV show that everyone watched at school.

But it was sorta scary enough to keep her wide awake. It was past two in the morning and she was trembling slightly after the credits were rolling. Raymond blinked sleepily at her. “Ready for another movie?”

“I think I'm ready for bed actually,” she said regretfully. She felt weird, all off kilter and jumpy. They'd just been movies. She knew they weren't real.

But still.

She waited til he started moving off the couch, so that he could lead the way through the house.

Just in case.

The hallway was dark and creepy but it was like he knew she was scared, he was turning the lights on as they moved through the house.

“Have a good night,” he said, moving toward her and stopping as though he'd been jerked back on a leash.

“Night,” she said briefly, disappearing into her bedroom.

She sat on the bed for a moment, listening to the night time sounds around her. The sound of crickets chirping in the bushes, the wind blowing through the trees surrounding the villa. It was...spooky.

She brushed her teeth and fell into bed with the light on. It was just that she was too tired to get up and turn it off was all. She could sleep easily enough with the light on.

She felt like she'd only been asleep a short while when something wakened her. A noise perhaps? She sat up in bed, reaching for her hair. Something was different. Someone had cut off her hair. It was all shorn extra short around her head. She screamed in horror, scrambling up from the bed, terrified. Who had done this?

And then she heard a patter of feet in the hallway, strange ghostly steps. She bit her tongue, jumping out of bed to lock her door, turning to hide in the ensuite bathroom. But there was no comfort there.

Someone had written the words ‘soon’ in lipstick across the bathroom mirror.

She felt sweat breaking out on her forehead and neck. Someone wanted her dead. Someone was coming to kill her.

She screamed again, opening her eyes to a wild eyed Raymond in pyjama pants and sleep shirt, silver revolver in hand.

“What is it, whats wrong!” He said urgently.

She sat up, grasping for her hair. It was long, she hadn't had her hair cut off. It was a dream.

She burst into tears.

“I had a nightmare,” she cried tearfully.

He sagged in relief. He had heard her yell and had come in ready to defend her. Against what, she wasn't sure. What did he think could actually threaten her in real life?

He placed the revolver on her nightstand and sat on the end of the bed. “Can I give you a hug?” He asked.

She nodded, still sniffling as he moved over the bed to sit beside her and gathered her in his arms. She couldn't take her eyes off the revolver though.

“Why do you have a gun?” She whispered fearfully.

His arms tightened around her for a moment. “To keep us safe,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “I'm a criminal Lizzie. I'd be foolish to have no protection around me. Do you think that I've let us completely defenseless?”

She looked up at him. “What's one gun going to do if people really did want to hurt us?”

He laughed, a wry, mocking sound. “This house is surrounded by my security detail. When you went down to the marina today with Simon, do you know how many men I had watching you?”

She thought about that for a moment. She hadn't realized at all. Obviously his bodyguards were good at their job. She hadn't seen anyone watching her.

She giggled. “Are they trained to defend against ghosts?”

“Ah, no. But if you insist, I can add it to their training,” he teased.

She relaxed into his arms. He was funny. He smelled so nice too, and the heat of his body made her feel all sleepy again. He was holding her close enough that she could pretend it was her dad.

She fell asleep, drifting off in his embrace.

She didn't even notice it was the second day in a row with him and they'd slept in the same bed twice now.


	6. Chapter 6

 

It had been a hectic few days for Red. He thought he was an energetic man but he found it difficult to keep up. Lizzie had bought a guide book and wanted to do everything in the area.

She was a bossy little thing, he reflected tiredly as he trotted dutifully behind her through the ruins of Pompeii.

He hadn't been sleeping well. Lizzie was having nightmares regularly now and he'd found himself in her bed, rocking her back to sleep for the last three nights. He'd guiltily called Sam and asked about the nightmares.

Yes, she had them, Sam had said. He kept her away from horror movies, they tended to exacerbate an already overactive imagination. He'd been successful in weaning her from bed wetting and night terrors when she was quite little.

Sam had been angry to discover he'd allowed her to watch R rated horror.

“What did you think you were doing?” He'd said furiously. “If you aren't sure, call me and ask. She's a teenager Ray, of course she's going to lie to you about what I let her do.”

He'd been tight lipped, white lines around his mouth and eyes, but he had no defense to offer. He'd failed his first test as her father.

He'd tried to be a little more disciplinary with her but she reacted with such alarming venom every time he tried to assert some authority.

She turned to him now, guidebook in hand. “This was apparently where the prostitutes did their thing,” she said with a nervous giggle.

He raised an eyebrow. “They say it's the oldest profession. A big, prosperous city like Pompeii, the ladies probably had a roaring trade,” he said, ducking inside the low ceilinged door.

“The beds are stone,” she said in amazement. “Like actual stone beds, just built into the wall! What the…” She trailed off, scanning the walls with interest. There was a lot of graffiti etched into the stone. Quite obviously ancient and unmistakably...crude.

“Oh,” she said, flushing to the roots of her hair.

He stared at her delightedly. He had _not_ realized she blushed. So few people did. He shouldn't be surprised though. Her skin was so pale, like Katerina’s had been, a flush would show up all too easily.

It was why she was wearing that big, floppy sun hat and her bare shoulders were sticky with sunscreen. Her green tank top was beginning to cling to her, the heat of the day was beating down on them and sweat was dripping down her neck.

“Can we go to Rome?” She asked abruptly.

“A day trip or do you want to spend some time living in the capital?” He asked.

She shot him a look. “I live in Nebraska _actually_.”

“Well, about that. How would you feel if I asked you to stay with me a little longer than just summer vacation?”

Her chin rose. She was a darling little peahen, he thought, his chest aching with love. Her nose was a bit sun-burnt and she was giving him the most disapproving look she could muster.

It made him itch to catch her up into a cuddle. But he knew better. He just raised an eyebrow at her archly, flashing her an arrogant smile. “You could go to any school you wanted, or have tutors if you'd prefer. We could live anywhere in the world,” he said.

“What if I didn't want to go to school?” She asked flippantly. “Would you still want me then?”

I'll always want you with me, Lizzie,” he said, frowning as they walked along a path, away from the brothels and toward the large outdoor amphitheatre. “But not going to school isn't really an option...at least not for a few years anyway. You don't _have_ to get your high school certificate, but it would be useful for you.”

She huffed grumpily. “You don't know anything about me, do you?” She said, stalking off ahead of him.

He sighed heavily. He wasn't sure what he'd said but it was clearly the wrong thing. He caught up to her, taking her arm firmly. “What is it you want me to know then?”

She stopped on the pathway, turning around to face him. “If you knew _anything_ about me, you'd know that I'm good at school,” she said indignantly. “I don't want to leave. I'm going to college to be a doctor.”

“Well, you can do that anywhere,” he said exasperatedly. “You've been to nine different schools, for goodness sake! I would have thought a chance to go to any school you like, have the best tutors money can buy...well, isn't that mildly attractive?”

“No! I don't know!” She yelled, storming off again.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the urge to strangle her pass. She was an infuriating, mercurial, illogical, little dictator.

And he wanted her to stay with him forever.

* * *

 

He was relieved when Lizzie admitted to having her fill of ancient ruins. He gratefully sat back in the car, signaling their driver to turn up the air conditioning.

“Do you want to go for a swim in the pool when we get back?” She asked.

“Oh, so you're talking to me again are you?”

She sat silently for a moment, staring straight ahead. “You just let me go off. What if I'd run away?”

“Why would you have run away?” He asked, bewildered.

“I don't know. I could have!”

Ah. He suppressed a chuckle. He kept forgetting it was a teenage girl he was dealing with. She was probably testing him as often as he tested her. She just wasn't as subtle as he could be.

She wanted to know how much he cared for her.

Well then.

“You couldn't run far or fast enough,” he said silkily. “I'd catch you.”

She scowled, saying nothing, but there was a hint of a small, pleased smile playing about her lips.

She thawed considerably by the end of the car ride, talking animatedly about a local talent show she'd taken part in earlier in the year.

“...and Candice forgot her lines so it was just me saying my lines. We didn't win anything,” she confided. “I don't think we would have even if she'd remembered her lines. It was a boring skit.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't there to see it,” he said, hinting again at his earlier request.

“Well, maybe you could move in with us,” she said hesitantly. “I don't know if my dad would move all the way here. He likes Nebraska. We’ve never lived in any other state.”

“Oh, he has,” said Raymond smoothly.

“Well yes,” she acknowledged. “I know he grew up in D.C. but I've lived there my entire life. He wouldn't move now.”

“We can talk about it later,” he said non committedly. He wasn't going to push her any more today. He'd planted the seed. It would grow.

He had told her he wasn't going to kidnap her, and he wouldn't hold her against her will. But he fully intended to draw her away from Sam and back to him. Where she belonged.

He was happy to follow her into the pool area when they got back to the villa. It was rarely used, but it was maintained regularly. The chlorinated water sparkled invitingly in the afternoon sun. He took up a spot on a deck chair that was right beside the edge of the pool, pulling his sunglasses over his face and stretching out comfortably.

Lizzie swam from one end of the pool to the other a few times, splashing about before it was clear that she was bored with the lack of interaction between them.

“What would you do,” she said cheekily, swimming up to him as he lay by the side of the pool, “If I had sex with Simon?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, moving his sunglasses down his nose to give her a look. “I'd break his legs,” he drawled lazily.

She laughed delightedly. “You would not!”

“I would,” he promised, grinning at her. “Don't you go misbehaving with the poor boy. I'd hate for him to be laid up, without the use of his legs for six weeks.”

She laughed again, and dunked her head under the water, coming up a yard or two to the left of him.

“What would you do...if I said I wanted to be a criminal too?”

He sighed. They were playing this game were they?

“I'd ask you what kind of criminal a doctor could be,” he said, glad she wasn't aware of a few doctors of his acquaintance who actually _were_ involved in the criminal underworld.

“Ha!” She said, her mouth twitching.

Her little pink tongue darted between her lips as she licked at them, lost in thought. It made his stomach jump awkwardly.

“What would you do if I said I wanted to be a hooker?” She said with a laughing snort.

“I'd beat you,” he said promptly.

“You would not!” She exclaimed, outraged.

He laughed gently. “No, I wouldn't. What an extraordinary thing to say. You don't want that. Why don't you come up here, pick a deck chair and tell me what classes you think you'll take next year.”

She twisted her mouth up, considering his suggestion and waded through the water to the steps of the pool, hauling herself out. She walked over to him, water dripping everywhere and stood over him with a challenging look on her face.

“What would you do,” she said slowly, “if I did...this!” And in one smooth movement, she gripped his deck chair by its edge and tipped him, fully clothed straight into the pool.

He was so shocked, it took him a few moments before he heard her shrieks of laughter.

He was furious.

He really _was_ tempted to beat her. The little brat.

But he hadn't spent ten years cultivating and pruning that temper of his for nothing. He gripped a hold of his anger and stamped it down, swimming across the pool to the ladder, making his way slowly up the steps, his slacks and shirt completely sodden. He looked back over into the pool. His sunglasses were floating in the middle.

Then he looked over at Lizzie. She was still laughing but her eyes were widening in anticipation of his reaction now that he was out again.

She stood by the edge of the pool, engulfed in nervous giggles as he silently trudged toward her, water cascading off of him and dragging his slacks down a little so that the waistband of his underwear was clearly visible.

He stepped right up to her, a smile on his face.

“I would do this,” he said, as though there had been no interruption to the conversation, and he gripped her by an arm and a leg, lifting her up and throwing her into the middle of the pool, to the tune of her excited shrieks.

She splashed about happily after she surfaced, still giggling.

Oh well, if she wanted to play.

He jumped in after her, still fully clothed, grabbing his sunglasses and throwing them back over the side onto a grassy area near the pool.

“Lesson learnt?” He asked, grinning malevolently.

“Nope!” She said, trying to swim away from him. He caught her by a foot, pulling her back towards him. She was screeching in mock terror.

“Do I have to do that again?” He threatened.

She swam a tight circle around him, her eyes were bright with glee. This was more like it. This was what his heart wanted.

She splashed him with water and his hand snaked out, seizing her wrist and dragging her back to him. He stood in the shallower end of the pool and lifted her up out of the water again, one hand gripping her shoulder, the other tightly around the inside of her leg.

But she was slippery, all wet skin and long limbs. His grip on her inner thigh slipped and his fingers found themselves gripping her far more intimately than he'd intended. His hand had slipped straight against her crotch.

He heard her make an odd, shivery, grunting sound as he threw her into the deep end.

He was mortified. Had she noticed? The sound she'd made had been...yes, she must have felt it.

He waited with mild trepidation as her head broke the surface. She didn’t look at him, swimming over to the edge of the pool.

He swam a few strokes over to her. “Lizzie, are you alright?” he asked worriedly.

She looked up at him then, her pupils were blown wide and she was breathless. He blinked as he caught sight of the hard nubs of her nipples, poking through the thin fabric of her bikini top.

She was breathless because he’d just thrown her across the pool, he told himself, smiling uneasily at her.

“Do you want to go inside now?” He asked. “It’s almost time for dinner. Fabiana has something special under her hat that she’s keeping a secret from us,” he said.

“Uh, yeah sure,” she said, her eyes still shining oddly.

* * *

 

That night he had dreams of his own.

He tossed and turned, blankets thrown off and then seized again in annoyance halfway through the night.

The night air was humid and oppressive. He woke to hear Lizzie moaning in terror all the way down the hall from her bedroom.

But this time he didn’t go to her. It didn't seem right. She wasn’t a child after all. Not a little girl anymore.

Guilty and heartsick, he lay awake, listening to her cries, only drifting off in the early morning as she quietened.

When he woke, bleary eyed and mildly feverish with want, he made a decision. He was just in need of some adult companionship. That’s what was happening. He would go to Rosa. They’d found solace in each other before, nothing serious, just a nice, casual dinner out, and a tumble between the sheets afterward.

He had an itch that needed scratching.

That was all.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Lizzie sat moodily on the end of the pier with Simon. She'd become used to Raymond only wanting to spend time with her, seeking her attention at every turn and showering her with compliments, charming her with his little stories.

He was fun. She liked him a lot. She liked his attention.

So when he told her yesterday that he was taking Rosa out to dinner that evening she had been taken aback.

He'd suggested that she and Simon go for a walk down to the marina. He could introduce her to some of the local teenagers.

There was a skate park a little way from the marina that they were going to after they grabbed a pizza at the pier. Simon had suggested it. She didn't feel like it though.

She felt angry and confused.

He'd abandoned her again. He didn't really want to spend time with her.

“I think I'm going to go home,” she said to Simon. “I might call my dad tonight.”

“But I thought Mr Reddington was your dad,” he said, looking puzzled.

She stood from her position on the pier, smoothing her skirt out. “No, well I mean yes, but I'm calling my adoptive father.”

“Oh,” he said awkwardly. “Well, I have the impression that Mr Reddington wanted an empty house tonight. I'm supposed to take you to my grandmother and we can watch a movie in her kitchen. We have a TV in there. She's making a sponge cake with cream,” he said eagerly.

Lizzie barely heard him, stuck on what he'd said about the empty house.

“What do you mean?” She asked sharply. “Raymond said I'm not allowed to go home tonight? Is that it?”

“No, no,” he said, stumbling over his words. “I mean, he just wants the evening to himself. You can go back when my mother comes home.”

She narrowed her eyes, her blood was boiling. This wasn't cool. Who did he think he was? He dragged her halfway across the world so she can sit in a stranger's kitchen and watch movies on some old, banged up TV?

And he got to go out and have some stupid date with an Italian tart.

She wasn't an object that he could just put down when he was tired of her. She was his daughter and he had no right.

She clenched her fists. “I'm going,” she said briefly, marching down the pier toward the street. She was going to walk back up the hill to the villa.

“Where are you going?” Asked Simon, his voice raised in alarm.

“Home!” She threw back at him in anger. She didn't care if Raymond wanted to bang every woman on the coast. _She_ wanted to go home to call her dad. That's all she was doing.

Simon was following her, looking stressed. “Lizzie, you can't, you mustn't,” he fell back for a moment. “Please?” He asked as a last ditch effort. “I don't know _what_ they will say if you just burst in on them like that. It's not done.”

She turned back to him annoyed that he was taking their side. “I can't believe you don't care that Raymond is screwing your mom,” she spat.

He looked shocked. “She's an adult. I don't make those decisions for her.”

She snorted, turning her back on him again, still marching up the hill, her legs trembling a little, ready for a confrontation. He _better_ not be screwing her when she got there.

The front light was on as they approached. Simon was silent, a furrowed crease on his brow, but he followed her to the front door.

“I'm not going in,” he said glumly. “I'm going home.” And he did, turning down the side entrance of the villa to the apartment down at the very back of the property.

She stood at the front door by herself, her whole body trembling now. But she reached for the door, opening it silently. There wasn't a sound as she moved through the house. The hall light was on, shining her way down to the back of the house, where the bedrooms were.

It was then that she heard noise. The sound of two people groaning.

Her heart clenched. He was _disgusting_. An animal. She felt tears stinging her eyes. She strode through to the open door of his room, standing there like a judging angel, her hands on her hips and fierce condemnation on her face.

He was on his bed, completely naked, tangled in the limbs of the woman in his embrace.

Rosa.

He was kissing her hungrily, his hands kneading at her breasts, and the noises they were both making electrified and infuriated her.

She cleared her throat pointedly.

The two of them sprang apart, a look of horror on Raymond's face. He threw himself back a little in an effort to withdraw from the embrace.

It gave her a frontal view of his cock.

She stared at him, it was so hard and erect. Bigger than she imagined penises were supposed to be. How did it fit?

She had these thoughts in a millisecond before fury became the only thing she felt.

“Lizzie,” he gurgled in embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”

”I just wanted to call my _dad_ ,” she said, emphasizing the word. But I don't think I have the stomach for it after all.”

She turned on her heel and left, feeling sick at heart and so alone.

She was so upset that she didn't even consider staying in the same house. She stormed out the back entrance of the villa and down to Fabiana’s apartment.

She knocked on their door, a woebegone figure in the dark, begging entrance.

Fabiana answered the door almost immediately, ushering her into a warm embrace. She was herded into the kitchen like a lost lamb. Simon was standing nervously at the kitchen table.

“I told her what happened,” he said anxiously. “Did you go in?”

“Yes,” she muttered.

Fabiana was murmuring something in Italian, holding Lizzie to herself and rocking her. It was uncomfortable being squeezed against the larger lady’s bosom but nice that she cared and wasn't annoyed at her for going in when she knew what she'd find.

“What's she saying?” Lizzie asked, sniffling pitifully.

Simon twitched and ducked his head. “She says you need a mother to look after you,” he said reluctantly.

* * *

 

Raymond had grabbed his robe and followed Lizzie through the house. He'd been hot on her heels but stopped short at the back entrance of the villa. He watched as she stormed through the courtyard and made her way to Fabiana’s front door.

When the front door opened and warm lamplight streamed through, outlining Fabiana’s ample frame, he retreated back into the house.

It was better that she stay there. She would be fuming if he went in now. There would be no handling her.

He returned to his bedroom just as Rosa was belting a robe around herself. She looked up at him anxiously. “I'm sorry,” she said in accented English. “Is everything okay?”

He smiled slowly. “Once you take off that robe, everything will be just fine.”

He watched her answering smile through heavily lidded eyes as her long fingers reached for her belt again, shrugging the robe to the floor.

He was still going to fuck the woman in front of him. As anxious as he felt for his daughter’s emotional well being, he knew she was safe and really, he was a little bit annoyed at her.

She was so precocious, it was infuriating at times. The way she'd looked at him, the way she'd glanced down at his _cock_ , like he was a rutting beast fit only for her disdain.

Well he felt like a rutting beast. He took Rosa by the waist, pulling her into him hard, grinding his cock against her pelvic bone, feeling himself harden again satisfyingly quickly.

He took her mouth roughly, grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissing her full, sensuous lips. She moaned into his mouth, responding to him so readily, pushing herself onto him as they stumbled to the bed. She took his cock and slid him between her wet folds, stroking him with her hand.

Her breasts were heavy, sagging slightly from the breastfeeding she’d done all those years ago.

He bent his head to her nipple, suckling on her, drawing her into his mouth and massaging her other breast with the palm of his hand.

He was attentive. But his mind was elsewhere.

As he rubbed his fingers through her slick folds, his thoughts rebelled and he imagined his fingers where they had been two days ago in the pool, in Lizzie's crotch.

He winced. It had been an accident and hadn't been sexual at all.

He entered Rosa with a deep moan, grateful for his thoughts dispersing as pleasure scrambled his brain.

She was so hot and wet and curvaceous and uncomplicated.

He needed this. Needed the touch of a woman now and again. He was a very tactile man and he starved for affection very quickly when he didn't have someone to touch.

Lizzie barely let him near her when she was awake. When he went into her room and held her through her nightmares, she rarely woke during them and hadn't yet commented on the fact that she'd found him in her bed on a number of occasions in the early morning. The incident in the pool had been the first of its kind, where she'd welcomed touch.

By that time, he was already burning anyway. He needed his release. And he found it between the legs of _this_ enthusiastic woman.

To his horror, it was his daughter's face that he imagined as he squeezed his eyes shut, climaxing into her. He gripped Rosa’s round bottom and imagined Lizzie's small frame writhing under him. It was impossible to remove the images. He panted and shook as he pulled the condom off and cast it into the waste basket, rolling completely away from Rosa, his whole body feeling sick and aching with shame.

These thoughts were plaguing him. And they were so wrong.

* * *

 

Lizzie slept on the couch in the living room of Fabiana’s apartment. The curtains were almost transparent so she woke up with the sun, her heart still sore. She crept quietly out of the apartment, closing the front door with a soft click.

Her clothes felt sweaty and clingy on her. It would feel good to have a shower.

She opened the back door, for a moment unsure if it would be locked, but it opened smoothly, allowing her to come inside.

She stood on the back landing, feeling small and directionless. She’d go home, she'd call her dad and go home today. He better not try and stop her.

She felt her heart squeeze painfully at the thought that he may not try and stop her.

She walked past his bedroom, hesitating outside of his closed door. She wondered if he'd locked it but she wasn't game enough to test it.

She kept going through to her own bedroom, opening her door, closing and locking it. She didn't want to be interrupted either, she thought indignantly.

She showered and dressed quietly, her mind going over and over the events of the previous night.

Sad eyed, she pulled her suitcase from the stand it had been resting on. She managed to pack it quite quickly. She would have to leave some of the things he’d bought her behind though.

The beautiful carved stone jewelry box made out of the same type of stone that had built the basilica in Siena. It wasn't going to fit. And all the jewelry she had been given. That should stay in the jewelry box really.

He'd lavished gifts on her. A local craftsman had been selling an amber bracelet in the market the other day. She’d admired it, holding it in her palm and exclaiming over the bubbles in the amber. He had bought it for her in a trice. He did that all the time. She just had to show the slightest preference for something and it was hers.

She folded the clothes he'd bought her from the boutiques down in the village and put them back in the drawers. She wasn't going to need them and had no room for them anyway.

Looking around her room for anything she'd forgotten, she spotted the Polaroid camera he'd bought for her a few days ago. She'd gone wild with it, taking photos of everything. She looked at one of the photos now, taken by Simon down on the pier only yesterday. It was a photo of herself and Raymond with gelato in hand, grinning for the camera.

She sat on the floor and cried. It was easy to forget how much Sam loved her when he was so far away. All she could think about was that there was someone else who was supposed to love her and he thought she was a bore, he’d rather spend his time getting his rocks off than be her father.

It was clear where his priorities were.

* * *

 

Raymond listened out for her in the hallway, hurriedly rising from the bed and heading to the shower. He imagined she would probably want a shower too. He had time.

He’d always intended to send Rosa home that night before Lizzie came home, but she’d gone even earlier than anticipated. He wondered if Lizzie had been awake when Rosa had entered the apartment and hoped she hadn’t made a scene if she had been.

He moved through to the kitchen, pouring Lizzie a bowl of her favorite cereal and waited at the kitchen table for her.

He waited long enough that he started to feel a thread of anxiety for her. Was she going to hole herself up in her bedroom? Refuse to eat?

He left the cereal on the table, wandering down the hall to her bedroom. “Lizzie?” He called through the door.

There was no answer for a moment but then came the click of the lock on her door. She opened the door and pushed past him, elbowing him in the ribs perhaps a bit unnecessarily, her suitcase in hand, heading toward the living room at the front of the house.

He trailed after her. “What are you doing?” He asked, his heart in his throat. She couldn't leave him. He wouldn't allow it. Last night had been a ridiculous comedy of errors, surely she could see that? She wasn't a baby.

“I'm going home,” she said stiffly. “Can you get someone to take me home now please. You don't need to come. You're very busy with Rosa, I know.”

He huffed an irritated sigh, struggling to keep his fear under control. He would _not_ lose her now. “For goodness sake, are you telling me you've never accidentally come across Sam with a girlfriend? Not even once?”

“Yes that's exactly what I'm telling you,” she shot back angrily. “My dad knows how to keep it in his pants!”

They looked at each other, both of them shocked at her words.

The devil in him suddenly surfaced. “You only want me to have eyes for you then? Is that it?  Because I promise you, Lizzie, you're my number one girl.”

“I don't care what I am to you,” she sneered, but there was an alarmed look in her eyes.

_Bingo_ , he thought. She was feeling insecure in his affections. He felt a surge of guilt. He really should have found somewhere else to meet his needs. He would have to do some work reassuring her.

He moved across the room and before she had a chance to protest he seized her by the shoulders and hugged her to him. “Go away,” she said, struggling ineffectually in his grasp. “I don't want a hug!”

“I think you do,” he said, grinning at her. “I think perhaps I haven't hugged you enough.” He picked her up, hoisting her over his shoulders and tossed her onto the couch, diving in after her, holding her arms above her head with one hand and tickling her with the other.

“Stop! Arrgh! Stop!” she shrieked, twisting around on the couch. “Gerrof me!”

She was making enough noise to send the whole street into the house to see who was being murdered. Interestingly, no one came. No one would dare. What was it to them if the rich American was disciplining his daughter in the privacy of his own home?

He tickled her until she bit him. Hard.

“Ouch! You little…” he trailed off, mildly surprised at the way his cock had jumped to attention. She’d bitten him on the chest, sinking her teeth into a tender spot underneath his nipple, right through his shirt. He fought a sudden impulse to bite her back in the same spot. This was not what he’d intended when he had begun to roughhouse about with her.

“Serves you right!” she said indignantly. But her indignation wasn't very believable. She was stretched out across his lap, lolling over his legs comfortably, as though she were perfectly at her ease, her earlier anger forgotten.

Her shirt had ridden up, exposing her entire bare tummy to him. Smooth, pale skin, stretched tight over her ribs. She yawned. “You know, if you wanted to take me down into the village for some gelato instead, I suppose I could think some more about whether I’m going home or not.”

He was barely listening, he placed a hand on her tummy, feeling her body grow still suddenly, she stiffened across his knees. He looked at her face. Her eyes were bright and wide. She was holding her breath, waiting to see what he was going to do.

He bent his head and blew a raspberry on her tummy, desperate to remove himself from the strange moment, the odd, dangerous feelings coursing through him. “Gelato it is then” he said, smiling at her giggles as he blew another raspberry.


	8. Chapter 8

She never asked him for anything, but he loved to shower her with gifts. They were spending a few days in Rome to shop and see the sights. He'd become a little restless with the slow life of a small village and he'd wanted to distract Lizzie from her animosity toward Rosa.

She'd been very proprietary toward him lately but oddly was still prickly and prone to harsh outbursts. He wasn't allowed to show her any physical affection. His reward for any efforts in that direction was a snarl or a light slap. But she'd talk animatedly with him for hours about anything and everything.

He'd made the decision to take her to Rome after an altercation with Rosa. He'd gone over to their apartment one morning to speak to her about an artist he'd heard her mention recently when he discovered Lizzie had followed him, peeking around the corner of their front door, her face a thundercloud. 

“Lizzie!” Rosa had exclaimed, her face open and friendly. “Would you like to come in for some coffee?” She'd just been about to make him some. 

“No,” she'd spat. “And my name is Elizabeth.” She'd run off, back into the house.

He'd sighed, foregoing the coffee, going back into the house to find her moodily stripping the leaves off of a houseplant.

He'd chided her for destroying his things and she'd burst into tears. It had been a tense afternoon.

He couldn't help but feel a  _ little _ smug about her feelings toward him. And that troubled him. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate for her to feel so possessive. And he  _ knew _ it wasn't appropriate for him to be having fantasies about his daughter. They'd become worse lately.

He hadn't acted on them, he hadn't used any of his fantasies for his own gratification but god he'd come close a few times, lying in bed, sweating in the summer heat and aching with need. He pushed them away from his thoughts each time, horrified at the depraved way his mind wandered over her body. He'd started to drink far more regularly than he usually did. It blurred the sharp edges of his desire. It was a small help anyway.

He shook his head free of his thoughts again. He was standing now at the bottom of the Spanish Steps with his daughter. He grinned at her. He wasn't allowed to hold her but they'd come to the unspoken agreement that when he offered the crook of his arm, she'd take it. And they strolled down the streets of Rome this way.

“Can we go in there?” She asked, looking at a cramped bookshop stuffed floor to ceiling with books.

“Of course,” he said, walking her into the shop.

He watched her pick a book up. It was a large, encyclopaedic sized volume on Leonardo Da Vinci. She'd been researching him over the past few days out of personal interest. He was looking forward to taking her to see the Mona Lisa soon.

She flicked through the pages, the bold colors of the illustrations flashing past her nose. It was a beautiful book. He picked it up as she moved over to another section. He'd get this one for her. It would come in handy for her studies if he was going to be hiring a tutor.

“Imagine your school excursions being a trip to the Louvre or the D’Orsay,” he said, his voice deliberately seductive. He'd been working her over for days now, each time she'd softened just a little bit. The idea of staying with him was becoming more attractive. He was close.

He envisioned a little house somewhere, or an apartment. She was too old for a nanny. But maybe a housekeeper who could step in for a motherly influence when the occasion called for it. He'd teach her French, Italian and Chinese. And her mother tongue of course, he'd teach her Russian too. She would come into his study for an hour each afternoon and take her language lessons from him.

She'd have a tutor for everything else. Some wizened old woman, a semi retired teacher. And he'd have scientists from NASA  teach her chemistry and the other sciences. He'd have curators from the best museums in the world teach her art and famous authors teach her literature. She'd have the best of everything.

“I can't leave my dad,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “Who'd he have to make fun of him when his football team loses?”

He huffed a laugh. “Isn't it my turn now? Surely he wouldn't be so selfish as to stop you from spending the rest of the year with me. Just a year, Lizzie. What do you think?” He cajoled.

She didn't answer him, moving over to browse a bookshelf full of fantasy fiction. Some of it was in English but the majority was in Italian with a few German volumes.

“Do you like fantasy? Science fiction?” He inquired.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Yes! I've read Aldous Huxley’s  _ Brave New World _ for school. It's really interesting. Dad says I should also try Ray Bradbury and H. G. Wells.”

He nodded. “Sam’s bang on the mark there. Have you read  _ 1984 _ ? It's depressing, maybe don't read it til you're older and you've downed a few fingers of whiskey first.”

She giggled. “I haven't but it's on the list.” She gave him an appraising look. “When will you let me drink if I stay with you?”

“When you're forty,” he said promptly.

“Ha! You want me to wait that long to read  _ 1984 _ ?”

“Well,” he said, pretending to reconsider, “maybe thirty then.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, enjoying being allowed to play around with her. It was disarming, her naïveté and enthusiasm. And when she forgot to be angry with him, her sense of humor was entertaining. She was similar to Sam in some ways. Unsurprising really.

They wandered out of the bookshop, laden down with the book about Da Vinci and a few other volumes she'd selected and they walked further down the street. It was the well known shopping district. He already had quite a few bags hanging off of his arm. He wanted to buy her some new luggage. Her battered old suitcase had a wheel that kept coming off and it was dented in more than one spot.

“Louis Vuitton,” he said decisively, the flagship store coming into view.

She glanced around her, keen interest apparent in her face as they entered the store. The doorman greeted them with a smile which she returned brightly.

“This isn't really the kind of stuff I usually go for,” she whispered to him.

He ignored her. A salesperson approached, dressed in tan chinos and a crisp white shirt.

“Good afternoon,” he said to the salesperson jovially. “The lady requires a new suitcase. Could you help with that?”

The man ushered them to the large suitcases they had displayed coyly in the corner. He was falling over himself to please Lizzie.

“Would this suit?” He asked smoothly. “It's called the Zephyr. It's very popular.”

She just nodded, shrugging her shoulders. “Yeah I guess. It's nice,” she said. 

He purchased the suitcase for her, curious about her response.

“Are you sure it's what you wanted?” He asked.

“Well,” she reflected, “a suitcase is a suitcase. I know Louis Vuitton is supposed to be hot stuff and all but it's kinda boring...I don't mind though,” she said, dimpling cheekily at him. “You can afford to buy me boring, expensive luggage.”

He laughed at her. She was a firecracker. He couldn't help but respond well to that. It was so much better than when she'd been afraid of him.

They decided together that they would head back to the hotel. They had a spa appointment booked later that afternoon. 

He unloaded all of the shopping bags onto a side table in their suite. She didn't waste any time, rifling through the bags like it was Christmas. 

“Oh, I love this! It's so pretty,” she sighed happily over a silver chain link bracelet he'd bought her from Tiffany’s. It was delicate and lovely, the chain links connecting to a pink diamond heart.

She sat on the floor, pulling out all of her gifts, exclaiming over each one as though she were seeing them for the first time.

She looked up at him from her position on the floor. “Thank you,” she said dutifully, her eyes shining in delight as her attention wandered back to the shoe box she'd just pulled out of a bag.

“My pleasure,” he said softly, seating himself in an armchair, watching her from across the room.

It wasn't long before it was time to go downstairs for their appointment.

“I've never had a massage before,” she said nervously. “Do I have to take all my clothes off?”

He winced, imagining her nude and stretched out, relaxing on a massage table.

“You can keep your underwear on, but it's easier if you take the rest of your clothes off,” he said.

They sat in a private room, music playing in the background and a selection of cold tea and fresh fruit off to the side. A little fountain in the corner added to the ambience, water cascading merrily into a large, shell shaped bowl.

They were greeted by a smooth haired blonde attendant, clothed in a white pantsuit.

“Champagne?” she asked him, her elegantly plucked eyebrow arched questioningly. 

“Yes, thank you,” he said, quite happy to relax on all fronts.

“And for signorina?” She asked.

He glanced at Lizzie, who was looking back at him hopefully. “ _ One _ glass,” he said. “One, are you listening?” He asked uneasily as she pumped her fist in the air, doing a little victory dance on the spot.

She gulped her champagne down. “Steady!” He said, a little worried it would go to her head.

She giggled, amused at his concern. “It doesn't taste too bad,” she said in surprise.

“Well, you are  _ my _ daughter. Good taste is built into your genes.”

“Ha! I hated my dad’s beer when I snuck some once at Christmas.”

They were guided into separate rooms shortly afterward. She had been looking forward to this all afternoon. “See you in a bit then!” She said brightly, disappearing into her own room.

He was in need of some relaxation time. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but Lizzie was exhausting. Her constant mood changes had worn him down. He loved her to bits and wanted her with him for good. But his nerves had taken a battering.

He groaned unabashedly as the masseuse worked her palms into the muscles of his back. He had stiff knots around his shoulders and she was giving them a pounding, kneading unmercifully into him.

He blinked himself awake at the end of the hour. He had fallen asleep briefly, roused only by the dimmed lights coming on full strength again.

As he wandered through to the sauna afterwards, he let himself lose his focus, his usual sharp senses fuzzing pleasantly around the edges. Lizzie would be a while. She had a haircut scheduled after her massage.

He returned to their private room to wait for her, downing the rest of the bottle of champagne happily. He was still in his robe, completely nude underneath. There were a number of reclining couches in the room. He took one nearest the door.

He turned his head when the door opened and Lizzie emerged.

He smiled. She looked lovely. His heart squeezed a little at the sight of her. She looked so grown up with her new hair style. He was going to have to get used to her sleek, shoulder length bob. They'd cut off quite a few inches of her long, brown tresses. He couldn't help but think that her childhood was almost over. He'd missed out on so much.

“What do you think?” She asked shyly.

“Lovely!” Very modern,” he said, hoping it was what she wanted to hear.

She wandered to the side table and picked up a peach, neatly biting into it, reaching for a napkin to wipe up the juices.

He stared at her, as she licked her fingers.

She looked back at him, a strange expression rippling across her features. She seemed as though she were wrestling with something privately.

“Yes?” He asked politely, cocking his head to the side, waiting patiently.

She looked away. “Nothing,” she muttered.

Well, she'd come out with it eventually. She usually did. 

 

* * *

 

“Switzerland,” he said grandly to her, first thing in the morning.

She stared, bleary eyed, trying to make sense of the conversation he'd plunged them into over the toast and eggs Fabiana had just put onto her plate.

“What about Switzerland?” She asked suspiciously. He was always like this, running ahead in his thoughts, forgetting to let everyone else in on what was going on in that brain of his.

She had felt a lot of confusing, complicated feelings for him lately. She didn't understand what was happening at all. She felt angry and teary one moment and the next she wanted him to grab her and tickle her like he had the morning after the Rosa fiasco and when he didn't pick up on what she wanted, she'd get cross again.

She felt vaguely ashamed of herself for how she was behaving.

She was almost happy to be back at the villa. Rome had been strange. Exciting and fast paced but he'd dolled her up like an adult and taken her to late night dinners and smoked cigars in front of her and she'd felt...funny.

He was her dad. He was a younger and better looking dad than the one she had at home. But god, why would she care about that? Kids didn't care about their parents looks.

“There's a very exclusive school in Switzerland that I could potentially get you a place at. I'd need to pull a few strings, but I'm confident I could do it,” he said arrogantly.

“I don't speak the language,” she said in some amazement at his idea.

“Neither do half the children there. The sons and daughters of the world's elite from every corner of the globe attend. You could easily learn though,” he said. “You're smart, like your father,” he grinned smugly as he said this.

She sighed. “So it's a boarding school? I'm not staying with you so you can stick me in a boarding school,” she bit out.

“You'd be a day student,” he said. “We'd have a house nearby. You can decorate it any way that you want.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “You know, there's a girl at school, Amanda. Her parents divorced last winter and she says her dad only wants custody of her because single dads are chick magnets,” she said, taking a bite of her toast.

He gave her a startled look. “What? Goodness Lizzie, you come out with the oddest things.”

“Have you got a girlfriend,” she asked suddenly, thinking of Rosa with an unpleasant lurch of her tummy.

“No,” he said crisply. “Have you got a boyfriend?”

She grinned at him. He thought she’d be put off from asking personal questions by counter inquiring. He had a lot to learn about her. Truth or dare was one of her favorite games.

“Nope,” she said matter of factly. “Haven't been kissed either.”

He paused in the middle of buttering a piece of toast, his hand tightening around his butter knife. “Good,” he said. “You’re a bit young for that.”

“Candice says all the kids our age at her old school have pretty much had sex by the time they turn fifteen,” she said, hoping to goad him into some small outburst.

He just gave her a sly smile. “It’s lucky you don’t go to that school then isn't it?”

“I guess,” she said vaguely. “How come you don't have a girlfriend? Are you looking for one?”

His eyes widened at her frankness. “I’m neither looking nor am I not looking,” he said. “My lifestyle tends to be a little off putting to most women,” he added dryly.

“What? Your jet setting round all these expensive places and going boating and buying diamonds and going to fancy restaurants, she said, giggling. “Must be a drag.”

He was getting a little annoyed at her now. She felt bad but she loved getting this reaction from him. She didn't understand why.

“I’ll let the ladies be the judge of that,” he said firmly. “Finish your toast, I want to take you to Sicily today.

“We’re flying?” She asked eagerly.

He smiled warmly. “We are. It’s a unique place. I think you'll like it.”

“Lots of ladies there?”

“Lizzie! What’s gotten into you today?”

She glared. “Nothing. Can't I ask about your love life? It’s not like I’m asking about your sex life.”

He frowned. The Rosa incident was clearly at the forefront of both of their minds. She wasn't sure what was wrong with her today, but she couldn't stop, her mouth had a mind of its own.

She stood from the table. She hadn't yet showered, her hair was a mess and her chin was sporting a new zit. She didn't feel particularly well put together just then. So she wasn't sure what possessed her.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” She asked abruptly.

He paused, looking at her with a wary expression, his toast halfway to his mouth.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “You’re very pretty, sweetheart.”

She flushed, pleased beyond words.

“I’ll go get ready for Sicily then,” she said.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Shhhh, don't be so loud,” she giggled, downing the last of her third glass of scotch.

Simon laughed at her, “you are, how do they say it? A lightweight,” he said, as she lost her balance, falling off the arm of the couch that she had been precariously perched on.

“Oh crap,” she moaned, feeling a surge of nausea and dizziness. “I fell.”

“I know,” he said with what Lizzie privately thought was a very unmanly giggle.

She scrambled up from the carpet, swaying in time to the music they had put on and going to pour herself another drink. Simon had wanted to introduce her to some Italian pop singer he liked. And at some point during that, she had suggested that they break into Raymond's liquor cabinet.

Simon had been horrified. “Break in? He'd know if we damaged the cabinet,” he said in alarm.

She'd snorted in derision. “Have you got a paper clip? Never mind, he’ll have one in his study. Just give me five minutes and a paper clip. I'll have it open.”

He'd watched, open mouthed as she'd shown off the skills her dad had taught her. Sam had wanted her to learn how to pick a lock and get herself out of hand cuffs. She'd laughed at his focus at the time. She'd far rather learn how to forge U.S. currency or scale a building and work the combinations of a safe like she was pretty sure her dad did from time to time but he hadn't wanted to share the high risk parts of what he did with her.

Oh well, plain old lock picking was coming in handy now.

“Score!” She'd cried victoriously as the antique mahogany cabinet swung open.

They'd made a grand start on the scotch and bourbon. Lizzie preferred bourbon but kept drinking the scotch anyway. It was what Raymond drank. She felt sort of nice, knowing that she was sharing this small thing with him even though he was far away and would probably be mad if he knew she was doing this.

He'd gone that morning to London on urgent business. “Can I trust that you'll be fine for the time being?” He'd asked, small creases of concern around his eyes. “I'll be back first thing tomorrow morning.

She'd acquiesced, feeling a little disgruntled that once again, he was leaving her to her own devices. At least this time he wasn't running around screwing every pretty female in arms length.

Or was he?

He'd said urgent business but what did that mean?

Maybe there was some piece of ass that he was chasing in London? She wondered if he did want a girlfriend. It clawed at her, the idea that he could come home any day with a woman who might try and call herself a step mother.

She tried not to think too deeply about it. The feeling bothered her, it was hot and painful in her chest every time she thought back to walking in and seeing Raymond attached to Rosa. She wasn't jealous. She just wanted him to prove he really wanted to be her dad.

She wasn't jealous at all.

“You know,” she said to Simon with a lopsided smile, “if Raymond and your mom got married, that would make us brother and sister.”

He grimaced. Her tummy did a delighted little jump. He didn't like that idea at all.

“Mr Reddington is not marrying my mother, Lizzie. He isn't the type. And also, my mother isn't in love with him. She says if you fly too close to the sun, you'll get burnt. She's sensible,” he said, nodding solemnly at her.

Her face fell. “What would it be like though? To have a sister?” I've never had a brother,” she said.

“Well, I have a sister. Two actually. My father had two more children with a lady he met in Scotland. I don't see them often and I don't really think of her as my stepmother, but I have sisters.” He gave her a sidelong look, grinning at her. “You're not like a sister.”

She was about to respond when she heard a car approaching on the gravel driveway outside. Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. She'd just started on her fourth scotch and her brain was very fuzzy and she was dizzy and giggly and happy but she had enough awareness to know that sounded like Raymond’s car.

“Quick! Go, you've gotta get out of here,” she said in panic.

He gave her a wide eyed look of terror. “If he sees me I'm going to be in so much trouble.”

Simon stood up on wobbly legs, trying to make a run for the back door but he crashed over a coffee table just as Raymond entered the front door of the villa.

“Lizzie? Hello? What was that noise? Are you okay?” Came his anxious voice drifting through the hallway.

“Shhhh shhhh,” said both teenagers foolishly trying to hush each other and giggling at the sounds they were both making.

Lizzie was trying to help Simon up off the floor as Raymond entered the room.

They must look quite a picture, thought Lizzie dazedly. She was practically sitting on Simon, which really wasn't helping him to get up off of the floor.

“Raymond!” She said cheerily. “You're home early! We’re playing leapfrog. Come and play!”

His face darkened as he saw them both in their slightly compromising position.

He took a few steps into the room and she was able to pinpoint the exact moment he smelt the alcohol. It would be hard not to. The bottles were still open and Simon had split his glass as he tripped.

“What's going on here?” Raymond asked grimly.

_Uh Oh_ , she thought. Did this count as stealing? When it was from her dad’s liquor cabinet?

She stumbled to her feet, suddenly feeling even dizzier than she had before.

“We’re playing leapfrog with your scotch,” she giggled.

“Simon, get up and go home,” he instructed, biting his words out furiously. “I'll speak to you later.”

Despite the amount of alcohol he'd imbibed, Simon was surprisingly agile, jumping up from his position on the floor and high tailing it out of the room like the hounds of hell were after him.

That left her and Raymond in the room. He was staring at her, he had such a disappointed look on his face. Her heart ached a little but also was strangely warmed. He cared enough about her to be disappointed.

He was so good looking, she thought woozily as she took a wavering step toward him.

 

* * *

 

Raymond couldn't believe it. Or rather, he could. He shouldn't have been surprised. She acted up every time he left her to her own devices.

She smiled saucily, “Are you going to punish me then?”

His eyebrows drew together in a brief frown. He ran a hand over his eyes. “No, you’re drunk because Simon allowed you to unlock my liquor cabinet. He’ll be...dealt with later.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “No! Pleash don't do anything to Simon,” she slurred. “ He was following my lead. I’m the one you should punish,” she said desperately.

He paused, observing her closely. She was staggering a little, trying to reach a surface she could hold onto. He felt a perverse impulse to test her. “Lizzie, Simon is almost a man. He ought to be in a lot of trouble over this. I’m not sure if i’ll continue to allow him to live here, to be perfectly honest.”

She hiccuped, her face crumpling. “No, please, Ra-, dad,” she said, testing the word out in her mouth. Please, dad, don't do that.” She swayed toward him across the room. He caught her in his arms and she folded into him, allowing him to caress her face and stroke her hair.

Aha. Unknowingly, she had just given him a sure fire way to control her without hurting or punishing her directly. He winced inwardly. Ten years of thinking like a tactician, he couldn't help it. If there was an upper hand to gain, he had to have it.

To have her compliance, all he had to do was threaten, or at least appear to threaten those she cared about.

She was his. She had handed herself to him on a silver platter and she had no idea, the foolish little duck, he thought fondly, kissing her forehead.

“Alright Lizzie, we’ll leave Simon for another day. But don't you think there should be some changes around here? Your behavior leaves a lot to be desired. I like hearing you call me dad though. Was that so hard?” He asked, brushing her hair from her face.

She looked up at him, her jaw slackening suddenly and an urgent look coming into her eyes. “I think i’m gonna be-”

And she vomited all over herself.

He jumped to the side, holding her as she threw up. He’d missed most of it but it was all over her front and she was sniffling tearfully. He sighed. A small part of him, the part he pushed down into a deep, dark corner, was loving this. She was utterly reliant on him, she was as helpless as the four year old he’d left with Sam. His to look after and baby while she wasn’t well.

“Come and clean yourself up,” he said, leading her through the house, into the ensuite bathroom. He pulled a towel from the rack, wiping her mouth gently and turning the shower on. “Strip,” he said. She looked at him dazedly. “Lizzie, you can't get in the shower with your clothes on. I’ve seen it all before. I changed your diapers, sweetheart,” he said patiently.

She laughed inanely, clumsily trying to pull her top over her head, getting vomit in her hair in the process. He reached to help her, unzipping her pants and pulling them down her legs with her underwear. He kept his eyes studiously on her face. “How dizzy are you? Can you step into the shower by yourself?”

She grinned at him, her eyes unfocused. “I’m naked,” she said cheerfully.

He hesitated. “Do you need to hold onto something?

“You’ve got vomit on your shirt,” she declared. “Ew, that’s so gross.”

He expelled a slow breath. “Lizzie, i’m going to step into the shower with you so you don't slip, okay?”

She nodded vaguely. “You’re not going to punish Simon though?” She asked anxiously, still fixated on their earlier conversation.

“No,” he said, pursing his lips, silently cursing the boy. He wondered if the crush she had on him was returned. He better not have tried anything. He really _would_ break his legs if he discovered that the lad had been exploring his daughter’s charms.

And she was charming. He could acknowledge that. Her eyes were impossibly blue. When she looked at him from under those sooty lashes he worried that she could ask him for anything in the world and he wouldn't refuse her. Her smile, he worked so hard for that smile, to hear her laughter, clear as the church bells down in the village of a Sunday. She was tricksy and mischievous and adventurous and wonderful. It was no surprise that others flocked to her like a bee to honey.

He looked at her now, his face softening. “I won’t punish him, Lizzie. I promise. Hop into the shower please.”

She nodded obediently, stumbling in. She wavered so alarmingly that he made his decision. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and took his shoes and socks off, deciding he'd leave his pants on. He’d be soaked but he could change later.

He stepped in after her, the steady stream of hot water beating down on both of their bare shoulders. She turned to him and giggled, gripping his forearms for stability. “Now you're naked too!” She said.

“No I’m not,” he objected. “I’ve still got my pants on. He reached for a bottle on the shower rack and squirted shampoo into his hand. “Turn around,” he said, “your hair is full of vomit.”

She turned around and he massaged the shampoo into her hair, lathering it up, pressing his fingers and thumbs into her scalp.

She sighed, her small shoulders heaving. “That feels so nice,” she moaned.

His mouth felt dry. She was so small, all drenched and childlike, her arms braced against the shower wall and head thrown back, enjoying his touch.

He rinsed her hair, lathering her with conditioner and rinsing that through her hair as well. He hadn't been given the opportunity to feel how soft her hair was. It was like silk to touch. He wished she would be more open to affection from him. Perhaps she would now that the status quo had changed.

He paused, swallowing hard. This was nonsense, his hesitation. This was his daughter and she was unwell. She needed his help. He purposefully soaped up a sponge and ran it along her arm. She lifted her arms, giving him full access, offering him a toothy grin. “That feels _really_ nice,” she said as he swiped the sponge quickly and as impersonally as possible across her front, under her breasts and down her tummy. “Can you do that again?” she asked, stepping into his embrace. He put his arms around her reflexively, feeling the swell of her small breasts against his bare chest.

“You’re all clean now,” he croaked, holding her lightly.

“My turn,” she said gleefully. “Now I’ll do you.”

“Ah, no,” he said uncomfortably. “Now we get you dry and into bed”

“But we just got here,” she protested.

He laughed. “Come on princess,” he said, kissing her on the nose. “Bed.”

He dried her off, carefully avoiding her breasts and the cleft between her legs. He couldn't help observing though, that she was just starting to get pubic hair. Delightful, light brown, downy wisps of hair. His fingers twitched. “Go and sit on the bed,” he said. “I just need to get my wet clothes off.”

He found her lying flat on the bed, giggling foolishly at the ceiling. He hadn't bothered finding freshly pressed pants. He just threw on a robe, belted securely around his naked form, and picked up her pajamas. She wriggled around on the bed as he tried to get her pajama top over her head. “Lizzie! stop moving. Come back here,” he said exasperatedly as she crawled to the other side of the bed, peals of laughter erupting from her throat.

She thought it was a wonderful game.

She eventually let him dress her. By that time he had to acknowledge to himself that he was aroused. It was just an automatic reaction though. It was normal to find himself feeling this way. After all, she was a naked teenager squirming around in a bed, whimpering and wriggling against him as he chased her.

Just an automatic reaction of his body, nothing more.

“You know what I did once,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows.

“What?” he asked exhaustedly.

“My friend Candice and I tried to lose our virginities with a banana,” she said, grinning at him as though it were a huge joke.

Ah shit.

“Lizzie, shhh,” he said, incredibly aware of and ashamed by his erection.

He was breathing unsteadily, thankful at this point that he didn't have pants on. They would have been painfully tight.

She wriggled closer to him on the bed. “It didn't work,” she said, practically in his ear. “We couldn't figure out how to do it,” she giggled.

“I have to go,” he said urgently, standing up quickly and leaving the room, ignoring her protests and questions. He closed the door behind him, hoping that she wouldn't try to get up and follow. He sagged against the door, wrung out by his own terrible feelings.

Blowing a shaky breath through his nose, he straightened and moved toward the bathroom at the back of the house. She wouldn't likely look for him there. It wasn't often used. He locked himself in and ran a bath, looking at himself in the mirror while the faucet filled the bathtub up. He knew what he was doing, he was sickened by what he was about to do. But it was better than the temptation lying drunk on a king size bed a few rooms over.

He lowered himself into the bath, pulling his knees up slightly and parted his legs, taking his achingly hard erection into his hand and stroking himself. He grimaced as he let himself think of Lizzie in bed, playing with herself. In his mind, he entered the room as she stroked herself to completion, bearing down on her, parting her legs and touching the small amount of hair curling between them. He imagined himself opening her up, being the first to enjoy her, bringing her to another satisfying climax.

And as he finished in his hand, he blinked away tears, surprised at himself. He never cried.

  



	10. Chapter 10

Ignoring reality and creating his own. It was what Raymond Reddington excelled at. They wanted him to run ten years ago, to be afraid. He'd turned the tables on them. He'd done what few others had. He refused to accept the reality, bending situations to his own purpose, choosing to ignore what didn't suit him and it went away. With a bit of work, double crossing and bloodshed.

It was easier now. Money and power smoothed over a lot of rough edges.

But all of that was dust when it came to a recalcitrant fourteen year old. If anything, showering her with expensive gifts seemed to exacerbate bratty behaviour. And exerting his monstrous persona as the Concierge of Crime...well, he hadn't tried that, dreading the fear that would undoubtedly spring up in her eyes.

A compromise then. He'd found he could balance her fear and obedience with her trust and affection. He would never hurt those she cared about but subtle threats toward them did wonders.

She had been a model child these past few days. She'd woken up the day after her incident with the liquor cabinet, sore and sorry for her escapade. She'd been fragile for most of the morning, but perked up when he'd invited Simon over for an afternoon swim in the pool. An olive branch.

She was still calling him dad. The incident had been worth it. Even just for that. But she'd also been so much more receptive to his physical displays of affection. He was allowed to hug her now, to run his hands through her hair and kiss her cheek.

He was soaring. The progress they'd made together was significant. He was sure that he could convince her to stay with him. It just required a little more time.

He was in his study, reflecting on her recent change of behavior and his plans for her future when he heard her urgent cries coming from the rear of the house.

“Dad,” he heard her yell, “dad, help!”

He leapt to his feet, knocking his chair over and tore through the house, following her voice into the bathroom. She was seated tearfully on the toilet, her arms wrapped around herself, her pants pooled at her ankles, taking in sobbing breaths.

“I've got-I think I've got my period,” she cried.

“Oh...I'm sorry, do you get painful cramps, sweetheart? I can send someone down to get whatever you need. It's okay,” he said comfortingly, a little nonplussed at the urgency of her reaction.

He wasn't confused for long. 

“This is...I've never…”

It slowly dawned on him. Her face was chalk white, drained completely of color. 

“Lizzie, is this...is this your first period?” He asked uncertainly.

Her lower lip trembled. “Yeees,” she cried forlornly as fresh tears streamed down her face.

“Oh princess,” he said, feeling completely adrift. He sighed. “I'll go get Rosa.”

“No!” She yelled fiercely. “Don't you dare!” I'll hate you forever if you do that!”

Her voice was strangled and squeaky with panic. Seeing her in such turmoil was upsetting and it was so much worse because he felt so unequipped to deal with this. Did Sam know she hadn't had her period yet? He might have told him, he thought bitterly. Considering fourteen was on the later side of the scale to start.

He stared at her helplessly. “I can send someone down to get the things you need then. Can I do...anything?” He asked awkwardly. 

She shook her head, looking away from him, her body hunched over. She was clearly regretting her panic and wanted to be alone.

“I'll go and organise what you need. You stay there sweetheart, it won't be more than fifteen minutes,” he said, leaving the bathroom and heading back into his study.

He quietly picked up the phone in the study, dialing Rosa and speaking to her in hushed Italian. He gave her a brief outline of what was happening and asked her to go and pick up everything she thought Lizzie would need down in the village.

Then he called Sam.

“Why didn't you tell me that Lizzie hadn’t had her period yet,” he demanded without preamble.

Sam drew in a breath, he heard it loudly in his ear as his friend exhaled into the phone. “You know I was just thinking about that the other day. I take it she’s had it now? Is she okay?”

“You might have told me,” Red said grimly. “She’s upset. Doesn’t want anything to do with the only woman I know here who speaks English and I’m not much help to her.”

“Ray,” he said, a note of concern in his voice. “I think maybe she should come home-”

“No,” he said shortly, cutting Sam off. “I don't think so. She’s not ill. She just needs a bit of reassurance, that's all.”

“Are you sure she’s not ill? Have you asked her how she feels? Is she in pain?” Sam asked, an undertone of anger in his voice. “Don’t be so selfish Raymond. I remember a time when you would have given the shirt off your back for someone in need.”

“She’s my daughter, she stays here. I’ll look after her,” he said simply.

“What do you mean she stays there? She’s coming home in a few weeks isn't she? Ray?” He yelled down the phone.

“Ray!” he heard, even as he pulled the phone from his ear and placed it on the hook again.

He’d deal with this. When she looked back to this when she was older, she’d remember her dad had handled it well, had comforted her and smoothed everything over for her.

It would be him she’d remember being there for her, not Sam.

After his aborted phone call with Sam he paced the living room, anxious for Rosa’s return. She wasn't long. She knocked quietly on the front door and he met her there, thanking her for her speedy assistance and kissing her on the cheek.

“Tell her she can come and talk to me about it if she wants to,” whispered Rosa. “I know she doesn't like me but she might find that she needs to talk to someone, yes?”

He squeezed her hand gratefully. “Thank you Rosa, you're very kind, and I'll tell her but I think she already knows the basics about what's happening. It'll be fine,” he said confidently.

“There is chocolate in the bag,” said Rosa, “and a pain killer that works well for me. And I think she will prefer sanitary napkins instead of tampons...at least while she is so young, but I bought both,” she finished awkwardly.

He blinked, realizing that he was going to need to go in to Lizzie and talk to her about pads vs tampons. His eyes widened. “We’ll see...how we go,” he muttered, thanking her again and watching her turn from the front door to the side entrance of the property.

He stood at the door for a moment, clutching the paper bag Rosa had given him close to his chest. Well, he'd already left her to her own devices for quite a while. Best go see what she was doing.

He found her still in the bathroom, her face tear stained and swollen, but she had stopped crying. 

“I have some things for you,” he said smoothly, reaching into the bag and producing a box of pads and a box of tampons, as well as the packet of painkillers Rosa had mentioned. “I know this is awkward Lizzie, but can you tell me what you know? Do you know what you need to do?”

“Yes,” she said, looking away from him, an embarrassed grimace on her face. “You can go now. I know what to do.”

“Alright then,” he said, leaving the items on the vanity. “Are you in any pain, sweetheart?” He asked compassionately.

She nodded. “I woke up with a tummy ache and it's gotten worse,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes again.

“When you're done in here, come into my room,” he offered. “We can sit in bed and watch a movie.” He was thankful for the large wall mounted televisions in the bedrooms. An excuse to snuggle with her.

She wasn't long, appearing in his doorway, walking a little oddly. He didn't say anything though, aware she'd probably bite his head off.

“Let's watch a comedy,” he said lightly, switching on the TV with the remote as she crawled into bed and tucked herself up beside him. She made no protest at his suggestion so he started the movie.

“I'm not really focusing,” she said reluctantly, ten minutes into the movie. “It still hurts.”

He switched the TV off, turning to look at her. Her face was crumpled in pain. His poor baby looked so uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how she was going to take this. Would she spurn his offer as awkward and strange? He wanted to help her.

“I've found that a tummy rub helps,” he said, clearing his throat. “It's worked with previous girlfriends.”

He internally cursed the maladroit way he'd approached it. She was unreasonably touchy when he talked about other women, particularly old flames.

She must have been in enough pain not to care. She just nodded dolefully, stretching her hand over her tummy as though to give herself a tummy rub.

“That's not what I meant, he said, reaching for her. “Let me?”

Her eyes flew to his face questioningly but she pulled her hand away and stretched herself out on the bed for him.

 

* * *

 

 

He was rubbing her tummy. He was being really nice, she thought sleepily. Long, slow circles with the palm of his hand. It felt so good. She didn't like to admit that she enjoyed it when he touched her. But she did. When he put a wary arm around her waist or touched her on the shoulder. She liked how cautiously he did it, as though she'd bite his arm off if he was too pushy about it but he still did it. It was worth the risk to him.

He pulled her in for a hug and she let him, snuggling in under his chin. His arm was around her and he still stroked her tummy. His hand was giving her the most delicious, spidery feeling in her lower belly. 

She liked that he was her dad. He didn’t make her feel the same way that Sam made her feel. She wasn’t sure why but she felt her dad at home was just there...always there, like a solid rock. And her dad here was like a fairy tale castle, thrilling and confusing and built on quicksand. She had so many conflicting feelings for him. It was overwhelming at times, made her want to lash out at him. But she cared about him. She felt such strong feelings, rooted inside her, growing like a weed. She wasn’t sure she wanted them but it was a bit late now. 

And his hand on her tummy felt so good.

“I should call my dad tomorrow,” she said drowsily. “I want to tell him.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Sleep now though.”

She felt her eyelids grow heavy. She wasn't sure what had been in the medication but it was making her just a tiny bit drowsy. She was already emotionally exhausted. She hadn't been prepared for this to happen so far from home.

“Dad,” she murmured sleepily,

“Yes, darling?”

“Thanks,” was all she managed before she fell into a comforting sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

He continued to rub her tummy even after she'd fallen asleep. There was something so intimate about the act, though his hands didn't stray at all.

He splayed his fingers along her flat stomach. He should leave her alone now, he knew that. She was asleep and not in need of any more pain relief.

But he was enjoying this. 

He realized with some surprise that he'd just assumed before today that she'd already started her period.

And now that he knew this was her first, all he could think of was that his daughter was fertile. There was a line in her life, and he'd been there with her when she crossed it.

The abdomen he was currently caressing was capable of holding life now.

He wasn't at all sure why he found the idea so fascinating, but he did. 


	11. Chapter 11

“Bye dad.” 

The phone was put down gently, the click barely making a sound as the handset was placed back on the hook.

Red had been listening carefully on the phone in the bedroom to Lizzie's conversation with Sam. He padded away now, his sock clad feet soundless on the carpet as he made his way through the house to the kitchen. 

He'd make them some iced coffee. She liked his iced coffee. It was a special recipe of his mother's and Sam didn't let her have coffee at home. So it was just another small concession to make to give her a picture of him as the more desirable father, the fun one. It was all a part of his campaign.

Lizzie arrived in the kitchen only minutes later, her mouth turned down at the corners. She'd forgotten to call Sam the day before to tell him about her period. She'd done it that very morning and from what he'd heard from the conversation between them, he was a little worried.

“Iced coffee?” He asked cheerfully as he retrieved a jug of cold coffee he kept for this very purpose from the refrigerator. 

“Thanks,” she said, unsmiling, heading to the kitchen bench and perching on a breakfast stool. “So my dad wants me to come home.”

Raymond knew he should feel bad for eavesdropping on the conversation but he didn't. He had a few moments to prepare that he wouldn't have had if he'd done the honorable thing.

But he was still a little nervous. This would have to be handled carefully. She'd been tired, a little bloated and in pain the last couple of days. He'd been as attentive as he could, starting a little ritual with her. He'd invite her to snuggle under the covers in his bed, watching movies with her and rubbing her tummy every night until she fell asleep between his sheets. 

“That's a shame,” he said lightly, pouring ice cold milk into the coffee and dolloping in some vanilla ice cream. “I feel as though you being unwell has slowed our plans up a bit. You'll miss out on such a lot. I was looking forward to taking you to Venice. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to take a gondola ride? And there's Siena, you've promised me you'd let me take you for Palio this year.”

Rather than look at him, she fiddled with the spoon he'd pushed across the table to her as he mixed the iced coffee. 

“That horse race you’ve been talking about?”

“It's not just a horse race! It's the culmination of neighborhood rivalries going back as far as medieval times. There's a pageant before the race itself. You would love it, I promise,” he said earnestly. “There are these little areas in Siena, each called a contrada. Seventeen of them, and each is represented by an animal. They also have their own colors and flags. They take it as seriously as any football team rivalry in America. Perhaps far more seriously. The contrada you were born in is the one you support for the rest of your life, regardless of who your parents support, who you marry or who your children support.”

It was one of his favorite little oddities throughout the world. He loved Palio. The lifelong loyalty to an area, to the people in your immediate vicinity, a loyalty that couldn't be broken simply because you move to a different part of town or marry into a family from another contrada. He always tried to make it when he could just to immerse himself in the breathtaking excitement of the race and the day itself. The atmosphere of the medieval town was unique and wondrous. He badly wanted to share that with Lizzie, but if she went home...well, he just wouldn't let that happen, that was all.

“I just...dad seems upset. Did you...talk to him recently?”

She seemed uncomfortable asking the question and he had a good idea why. Sam had been less than complimentary of him on the phone just now.

Nodding at her, keeping his expression easy, he handed her a glass of iced coffee. “I did. It didn't seem prudent not to. I've never had a teenage daughter before now, Lizzie. I wanted to make sure you had all the support you needed.”

It pained him to see how torn she was. Sam had been firm on the phone. He wanted her to come home.  _ But _ she clearly wanted to stay. So he had a good chance of keeping her here. And he was relieved that she wanted to stay, because he was beginning to understand that he wasn't at all ready to let her go. Even if she wanted to. When she had attempted to leave after the incident with Rosa, he had come to the ugly realization that if cajoling or bribery hadn't worked, he would have kept her against her will. 

It was a frightening thought. 

“I'm okay. But dad seems to think it's the worst thing ever and he's even called my grandma and asked her to stay with us for a while when I come home.” She looked up at him then, a sweeping flash of blue under long eyelashes. 

Teenagers. If he were the type of man to doubt his own ability to manage people in general, he'd be tempted to buy a self help book on the subject.  _ How to Parent Your Teen After a Ten Year Absence From Her  _ probably wasn't a title he was likely to find on the shelves in any case. 

He wasn't that type of man though. Once again she wanted to be chased, to be reassured that he wanted her. He was sure of it.

Turning away from her to rinse the empty jug in the sink he asked her over his shoulder, “Are you really determined to go, Lizzie? We’re not even halfway through summer vacation. Isn't Sam a bit overprotective? You're fourteen, not four. I think you should be able to make up your own mind.”

He finished with the washing up and turned back to her, leaning over the counter so he was inches from her face. “Sam’s been a wonderful friend, and I hate to compete, but I'll confess, I'm not willing to give up my time with you without a fight,” he beamed at her, hoping to appeal to her sense of mischief. “I was a rebellious teen myself. I did what I wanted to. I've a feeling you're inclined to do the same. Like father, like daughter, I suppose,” he said, reaching to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

It had been too long since he had another human being to love like this. All consuming, life shattering love. He was walking a line, he knew it. He watched her carefully, waiting for her response as she drank her iced coffee. He knew he was making this difficult for her. She didn't want to hurt Sam but she couldn't help but be charmed by the way he wooed her.

He shivered involuntarily. He hasn't meant up to use that word in his whirling thoughts. He wasn't courting his daughter...he was trying to establish a relationship. Reestablish really. He hadn't lied when he'd told her that he used to change her diapers. He'd missed out on the moment she'd started to crawl and her first stumbling steps but when she'd started to speak it had been dada he'd heard from her lips. Perhaps he should tell her that sometime. He'd leave out the fact that Katerina had been unreasonably annoyed that her first word wasn't mama.

“Would you talk to my dad then?” She asked hesitantly. “He's just stressed. He thinks you're not bringing me back when school starts again.”

Biting the inside of his cheek fiercely, he did what he needed to in order to redirect her thoughts suitably. “Lizzie, I've been wondering...did Sam tell you what to expect with your first period? Did he ever talk to you about it?” 

She ducked her head, looking away from him. “Um...no, my Aunt June did once a few Christmases ago. But she's a bit weird so I didn't really listen. A lot of kids at school already have them and they told me.”

She was flushing. Her sweet, creamy skin was stained a dull red. He couldn't help but imagine briefly where else she might flush, but he thrust the thought from him violently. “I'm surprised,” he said mildly, “it's not the sort of thing you leave your daughter to find out from other people.”

That got her attention. Her eyes flashed indignantly. “No, he just doesn't know how to talk about these things...not like...you do.”

Straightening up from his position over the counter he gave her a supercilious smile. “I suppose he hasn't spoken to you about the birds and the bees either?”

Oh, she really was flushing now. Her whole face and neck were practically glowing.

If only she were angry at him instead. But this charming confusion was pushing his buttons. He delighted in manipulative play with other people, but this was Lizzie.

Normally he loved acting like a cat playing with his dinner. If only she wasn't appearing so much like a frightened mouse…

“Well,” he said soothingly, scooping up her empty glass and placing it in the dishwasher, “I suppose there's time enough for that.”

When he turned back to her, he was satisfied to see curiosity in her face. She would stay with him, he was sure of it.

“I'll talk to him shall I? How are you feeling this morning anyway?” He asked, coming round the bench behind her and laying his hand lightly on her lower abdomen.

I'm okay,” she said.

But she didn't remove his hand, allowing him to rub gently on her belly.

 

* * *

 

 

She woke to sunlight streaming in from the window and the feeling of her dad’s hand stroking her tummy. It felt good. She was starting to feel a strange heat between her legs though. Ashamed, she shifted her hips away from him slightly. He was just trying to show her that he cared, why was it making her feel this way? 

It had been almost a week of late breakfasts, snuggles in bed, movies into the afternoon and the occasional walk into the village. She knew that girls at school didn't get coddled this way when they were on their period. So because of that she felt a little confused. She didn't  _ need _ this amount of cosseting but it satisfied something inside of her. 

She felt bad though. Guilty even. She would need to let him know….even if...well she just needed to say something.

“Dad,” she said in a timid voice. She wasn't quite sure how to say this but she felt oddly as though she were cheating, not playing fair. Would he be embarrassed if he knew her cramps had long since ceased? He still rubbed her belly every night, his hand caressing her lovingly. It felt so wonderful and she didn't want it to stop. But it probably would once he knew.

“Hmmm?” He responded sleepily.

“You know that...you know that my period finished right?”

He said nothing, just continued to stroke her belly. She lay flat, snuggled into his side, frozen in anticipation of his response. But he wasn't saying anything.

“I just mean, you don't have to rub my tummy anymore...if you don't want to,” she said confusedly.”

Was she handling this right? He still hadn't said anything. Had she offended him? Her stomach flip flopped at the thought.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, his voice deep and thick, like treacle. 

“No,” she whispered.

“Well then,” he said silkily as he continued to draw small circles on her abdomen with his fingers. 

It felt so good. 


	12. Chapter 12

Rome wasn't built in a day. Neither was the empire that Raymond Reddington had built himself from the ruins of his previous life. If something was worth having, it was worth fighting for, scheming for. He'd spent weeks now, tempting her away from Sam, offering her anything she wanted, spending painstaking hours divining her hopes and dreams, the things she truly wanted out of life.

She was fascinated with him, half in love with the idea of being his princess in his world. The only thing that stood in his way was Sam. He felt no animosity toward his old friend. Perhaps a bit of envy, that was true. Sam had been gifted so much and he'd lost it all while he fled from country to country, slowly building himself up to be the fearsome creature he was now.

All his skill, all his wiles, he was going to employ everything in his arsenal to take back that which was most dear to him.

He sat by the pool now, watching her apply sunscreen to her shoulders, her fingertips rubbing the white cream into her skin. He'd been stepping up the onslaught over the last couple of days.

“Have you thought of all the bragging rights you'd have upon your return? Imagine being able to tell your friends that you'd spent a year at the most exclusive school in Europe.”

She rolled her eyes, flicking excess sunscreen onto her legs, massaging that in. “Yeah, at the schools I go to, bragging just makes you look stuck up and you're likely to get a punch in the head.”

Really.

He pursed his lips, a hideous and hateful idea forming in his head. If he did this, if he said the words on the tip of his tongue, even if it didn't achieve his desired outcome, he will have forever alienated Sam. He wouldn't be forgiven after this.

It was an almost sure fire way to convince her to stay. But it might destroy her relationship with Sam forever.

She had  _ him _ though. And he was committed completely to being her father.

“I've always wondered about that, you know,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately casual. “It wasn't my business of course, to direct your education when I wasn't able to be involved in any other capacity but I  _ did _ wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

Oh she was curious. The trap was closing over her, she was so easily caught in his gossamer net. The little butterfly in the spider’s web.

“Oh, just the choices Sam made. I mean, the money I gave him was to be used as he liked. I suppose I just assumed he might have sent you to a private school,” he said carelessly, as though what he was saying was of no particular import.

“Money? What money? He never had any money from you,” she said, her voice taking on a shrill, panicked tone.

His eyes widened in carefully curated surprise. “Yes he did. I gave him a particularly extravagant sum of money, it should have taken care of both of you for the rest of your lives.”

She stood up, breathing raggedly, a dull flush in her cheeks. “He was being  _ paid _ to look after me?”

“No, no, Lizzie. He was my friend. He was doing me a favor.”

“Some favor,” she spat. “It's a pretty big ask, to just adopt someone because your friend wants you to.”

She was trembling. He felt a pang of conscience. A bit of pain now though, for her future happiness. It would all be worth it.

She paced the timber decking. “I can't believe I never thought to ask,” she said, a dry sob escaping her. “Why would he adopt a kid as a single dad? Money of course.” She looked up at him, her eyes red rimmed. “I'm going to call him. Now. I want to hear this from him,” she said, racing into the house, heading for the phone in the study as though she thought he might try and prevent her.

He wouldn't of course. This was all going to plan.

He waited a few moments before he followed her. He heard her voice from the next room as he made his way to the study.

“When were you going to tell me that you were paid to adopt me?” She yelled. She was silent for a bit, listening to his response.

“No, no, you didn't tell me that he gave you money to keep me!” Tears were running freely and she sobbed through her words.

“It's the same thing dad! No he didn't tell me that, he didn't need to tell me! It's obvious. You would have told me about the money otherwise.” She paused, listening again to Sam’s desperate explanations. He could hear his voice even a few paces away, tinny and urgent through the earpiece of the phone.

“I hate you! I never wanna talk to you again!” She screamed into the phone, causing even Raymond to jump.

She slammed the handset violently down and tore out of the room.

He knew his daughter well enough now to know she would need some time before he should approach her. He would use that time to gauge Sam’s reaction.

He dialed his old friends number.

“Lizzie?” Gasped Sam into the phone.

“It's me.”

“You lying son of a bitch,” he spat venomously.

“I only told her the truth Sam, I'll never lie to her.”

“You twisted the truth! That money was waiting til the day she turns eighteen. I haven't touched it. How could I? There was no way to explain that money without lying and I don't lie to her either. Something tells me I've been more forthright than you!”

“All I've done is tell her I gave you a large sum of money intended for her. It's up to you both to discuss that further,” he said evenly. “And really, Sam...nine different schools? You could have settled somewhere. I  _ did _ think that when I entrusted you with my daughter and enough money to-”

She's  _ my _ daughter, she will always be my daughter and I've had enough of these silly games. She's coming home right now Ray! Do you hear me? Get her on a plane now or so help me god…” 

“You're not in a position to make demands like that. Lizzie is upset, she's going to need some time. I'm enrolling her in a school locally. She can spend a year here and we’ll reevaluate at the end of that period.”

Sam was sputtering, apoplectic with rage. “You...you bastard...I'm coming over there. How interested do you think the Feds will be to help me get my daughter back when they hear the FBI’s fourth most wanted has her?”

“You won't do that, Sam,” Raymond said confidently.

“The hell I won't!”

“You alert the FBI or any other law enforcement agency, you’ll be serving Elizabeth up on a platter to those who threatened her when she was four. They think she died in that fire, that Katerina Rostova and Raymond Reddington’s daughter is dead. I know you won't do anything to jeopardize her safety now.”

Sam's sob of anguish was terrible to hear. He wondered vaguely what had happened to him that he could listen to that sound, that he could inflict this amount of hurt on a man who had been as close as a brother and continue on as if everything were fine.

“Goodbye Sam,” he said regretfully, placing the phone back on its hook. Now to find Lizzie and see how she was doing.

He found her by the pool, sitting on the edge, her legs submerged in the water. She'd stopped crying.

“Sweetheart, I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” she said in a dull voice. She didn't look up at him. 

“I feel obligated to tell you that I've spoken to Sam just now and he wants you to return to Nebraska straight away,” he said, in the same gentle tone.

She glanced up at him then. “You're not going to send me home though, are you?”

He waited for a beat. “Not if you don't want to go.”

“I'll stay with you then.”

 

* * *

 

 

It had been forty eight hours of constant phone calls, ignored by her the whole time. She didn't want to talk to Sam. She felt as though her insides had been pulped and squeezed out of her every time she thought of him.  And he continued to try to force her to acknowledge him. She wondered if he was worried he'd lose the money.

Her whole life was a lie. The father she thought was steady as stone was a trickster in every sense of the word. She lay in bed, drearily wondering if she had to get up this morning.

Burrowing further into the bed sheets, she pushed her bottom further into her dad's side. At least she had him. She hadn't really stopped sleeping in his bed since she had her period. It had just become the norm to get ready for bed in her own room but slip into his bed when it was lights out.

He hadn't commented so far. He still rubbed her belly every night. It helped her sleep. But last night she hadn't been able to sleep at all. It wasn't her tummy, it was her heart that felt bruised and sore.

“Don’t you think it's past time to get up?” His voice floated over her, crusty and deep with sleep. It gave her a pleasant shiver.

She sat up slightly, turning toward him, her thoughts confused and fuzzy, eyes still unfocused. Was this okay? What they were doing?

“Have you noticed,” she began cautiously, “that we’re sleeping together a lot. Like, in the same bed.”

A spasm flashed across his face, as fleeting as lightning. “I've missed out on ten years of your life. It surprises you that I want to spend every moment, waking or sleeping, with you?”

She cozied into his chest again, tucking her legs up between his own legs. “I guess not,” she whispered contentedly.

“I take it we’re not getting up just yet then?” He asked, gently stroking her lower back, his fingers sweeping the top of the elastic of her pajama shorts.

Closing her eyes, she let the sensation of his fingers on her bare skin wash over her. “Not yet,” she sighed, keeping perfectly still, folded tightly into his body.

Just a few more minutes.

  
  
  
  



	13. Chapter 13

The day her father stopped calling was the worst day of her life. She hadn't realized until that point that for all her outrage, for all her anger and hurt, her desire to  _ punish _ Sam, she had still relied on the belief that he must love her, he must want to make things up with her.

She hadn't really believed with her whole heart that he had taken her just for money. Not when she'd had time to think, time to step out of her sullen anger.

So when that morning she woke up and didn't hear the shrill ring of the telephone, a cold fear gripped at her heart.

“Don't you want to go sailing today, Lizzie?” Raymond looked across the breakfast table at her, he'd been eager to show her how to sail a boat. Simon was supposed to come with them and help.

She pushed her breakfast around her plate. He hadn't noticed then? That her dad-that Sam, hadn't called yet. For the past few days he'd called the house every morning at seven AM sharp, then again at nine AM and a few times in the evening, varying the times, sometimes after dinner, sometimes before.

She never answered the phone. Her dad would look at her for a moment each time and unobtrusively move to answer it himself. He spoke quietly, it was always the same.

_ “She's not ready yet Sam.” _

_ “You'll just have to trust me to tell you when she is.” _

_ “Sam, you're not being helpful, I won't tell you again...when she's ready, not when you are.” _

Sometimes she could hear Sam bellowing from the other end of the phone, his familiar voice causing a hard ache in her chest _. _

That ache was nothing compared to the nausea and fear in her belly as she sat waiting for the phone call that was half an hour late that morning.

“I don't really feel like going out today,” she said non committedly. How could he not notice? It had been days of phone calls like clockwork, each time he'd had to hang up because Sam refused to get off the phone.

She pressed her lips together. She wasn't going to cry. If he was giving up that easily, he wasn't worth it. She  _ wouldn't _ cry. He wasn't even her dad. Not really. But when she thought that, even just to herself, it was as if a fist seemed to punch her in the ribs. Well she'd just get used to it. That was how things were now.

Her dad was here and he loved her. He'd given her away to keep her safe. Like that story of Moses her grandma read her from the bible when they'd lived that year with her. She was important to Raymond, she reminded herself, so much so that he'd hidden her away to prevent anything bad happening to her. She understood vaguely that he hadn't meant to become a criminal, there was something that had gone wrong.

She asked him the other day. About her mom, about his reasons for going rogue.

She'd sat at an outdoor table with him at his favourite cafe, the one with the whitewashed wall and shockingly pink bougainvillea creeping up the side. “Tell me about my mom,” she'd said. “I kinda thought you would have by now. What happened?”

She had looked across at him. Silently willing him to be open with her. 

Actually, she had also wondered why it had taken her so long to ask. He loved to tell her funny stories about his past, why not a story about hers?

He’d smiled at her, unable to keep the grim lines completely out of his face. “I suppose Sam told you that your mother was Russian?” 

“Was? So she really is dead?”

Shifting in his chair uncomfortably, he'd flagged a waiter down, ordering an espresso for himself and a cafe latte for her. “Your mother’s name was Katerina Rostova,” he’d said finally. “She was a Russian intelligence agent. The...fire...she was separated from you...us, that night. She was captured and killed the night of the fire. I'm sorry, Lizzie,” he had said, his hands seeking hers as she choked out a ragged breath.

It made it just a shade more lonely now. No mother, no Sam. She had Raymond though. Her real dad.

* * *

 

All day she’d waited, mooching around the house aimlessly. She'd tried reading a book, she had heaps of them piled up in her room. She'd practiced her Italian with Ray-her dad.

No phone calls.

In the afternoon, it had started to sink in that he wasn't going to call that day. She'd waited in the house for nothing.

She'd even made bargains. She didn't really think much about if there was a god but she made a bargain with him anyway. If Sam would just call, she'd pick up the phone. If he'd just call, she'd listen to what he had to say. If he'd just call, she would give all her stuff to the homeless. She'd do extra hours of the language lessons her dad had started with her...she'd do anything.

But he didn't call.

And she stalked out of her bedroom in the late afternoon, in a bikini with her hair styled and makeup on.

I’m going to see if Simon is coming to the beach for a swim,” she said abruptly, her tone an indication that Raymond wasn't invited.

He looked disturbed, concerned but he just nodded. “Alright then. Don't forget to apply sunscreen.” He turned slowly back to his paperwork with nothing further to say.

She stood there in the doorway to his study for just a moment longer, wondering what kind of criminal work required so much...actual work.

But it didn't hold her interest long. She went back to Fabiana's apartment to find Simon there with some of his friends.

“Lizzie!” He called out to her. They were sprawled out on the grass of Fabiana’s front lawn, drinking soda and listening to music. “Come and meet my friends!”

She hesitated at the small front gate. “I was just going down to the beach and wondered if you wanted to come, but if you're busy…”

“No let's go down to the beach!” Said one girl enthusiastically, jumping up from her reclining position on the grass. She grasped Lizzie in an embrace, kissing each cheek. “Hello Lizzie, I'm Bianca.”

Lizzie smiled awkwardly. “Hi...so you guys are coming to the beach then?”

Simon was shirtless, his tanned chest sported a small amount of dark hair, concentrated over his sternum and nipples. She tried not to stare, her eyes darting away to study his friends.

There was Bianca, a pleasant looking dark haired girl. She was tanned and curvy, her hair cut into a bob not dissimilar to Lizzie's. 

“Lizzie is the American girl I told you about,” began Simon awkwardly, sitting up on the grass, crossing his legs into a lotus position. His other two friends smiled warmly at her.

“Hi, I'm Antonino,” said a blond boy sitting across from him. He gave her a lazy wave, looking over at her with an interested expression. He pointed at the other girl, the one with long dark blonde hair. “This is Adriana.”

Adriana waved at her too, jumping up from the grass. “I think a swim is a fantastic idea. Simon, can you take us out on the boat?”

Simon looked over at Lizzie guiltily. “Not really, I'm not supposed to without permission.”

Looking across from Simon to Lizzie, it was obvious that Adriana was confused. “But we do all the time,” she said. “When have you ever asked for permission?”

“I'm not gonna tell,” Lizzie broke in dryly, aware that Simon’s panic was because he was concerned that she'd snitch to her dad.

There were odd glances all round. Everyone was sort of frozen, looking around at everyone else. It was weird and Lizzie was beginning to feel uncomfortable when Antonino gave a great big guffaw at the situation. He thumped Simon on the back. “That'll teach you to go round borrowing the employer’s toys.”

He gracefully stood, taking Lizzie's hand and giving her the same kiss of greeting on both cheeks that Bianca had...but his lips lingered just a fraction longer, his breath just a trifle hotter on her skin. “You should tell us about yourself Lizzie.” He threw a cheeky look back at Simon. “We've heard some things of course. All very complimentary, I promise.”

Oh gosh, his smile. Who was this guy? She hesitated a moment but he  _ had _ asked. “Well, I'm staying here with my dad, trying to learn Italian. He's been drilling me on it every chance he gets,” she said, smiling at him.

It was late afternoon but the sun was still hot overhead and the air shimmered under the blue sky. They made a nice little group as they casually walked down to the beach. It was pleasant to have Antonino so interested in her. He asked lots of questions, made funny jokes and looked at her with heavily lidded eyes from time to time...it made her warm inside.

“So” he said, as they calmly paddled further out than the rest of the group. “Do you like it down here in the south? Simon said you've been to Rome. It's a bit different here, you'd probably notice that, yes?”

“Yeah, Rome is pretty busy.”

She didn't know what else to say. It was obvious Antonino was flirting with her. He'd sectioned her off from the rest of the group, swimming further and further out. She rifled through her brain for things to talk about. “So, what do you do,” she ventured weakly. It was all she could think of for conversation. She paddled even deeper out, her feet no longer able to touch the stones on the ocean floor.

“Oh I'm still in high school. Simon was in the year above us,” he said, smirking at her. “I'm probably going to go to university in Napoli the year after next. I'll miss home of course,” he said, as if he really wouldn't miss it at all. “Maybe I'll go to America too.” He gave her a sly look, as though he expected that to impress her.

The water was so calm and deep, licking softly at the sides of her body. It was easy to lie on her back and float, letting the ocean cradle her. She drifted further out, splaying her arms and legs like a starfish.

“Hey,” came Antonio’s voice from behind her. “Who are those men standing there on the beach?”

Lizzie looked up, curling herself into a ball and bobbed around in the ocean to get a look at what he was referring to. She saw five men in dark suits standing on the smooth, grey stones of the small, half-crescent beach. They just stood there, staring out at the water directly at them, arms by their sides like military men on parade.

She squinted. One of them looked like Artie, a huge man with a dark blond buzz cut and cratered skin. He was hard to miss. Head of Red’s security, she'd become familiar with him coming and going from the villa. He'd regularly report to Red each day.

“That's Lizzie’s security. Mr Reddington is a rich man, he takes his daughter’s safety very seriously,” said Simon, appearing to her right with no warning. He'd swam up around them. He sounded disapproving, almost warning Antonino away.

Simon splashed her playfully. “Best that you do not drown then, Lizzie. You'd get them into trouble.”

She raised an eyebrow, wiping droplets of water from her eyes. Looking back towards the men standing to attention on the beach, she had a wicked thought. “I wonder if they're paid enough to come in if I really  _ was _ drowning to rescue me,” she giggled.

Impulsively she splashed around, letting herself sink to her chin in the water. She waved an arm around violently, in the universally accepted signal for seeking help in the water.

“What are you doing?” Asked Simon uncertainly.

“Shhhh,” she laughed still waving and splashing about. 

Antonino had caught on. His big grin would have been a giveaway up close but all that her security team would see from this distance was two teenagers thrashing about in a very deep part of the ocean as if they were drowning.

“Help!” She gurgled as Antonino and even Simon begrudgingly started to echo.

It didn't take long. At first they looked startled, all fanned out across the beach, noticing her predicament at slightly different times.

It was Artie who sprang into action first, following closely by every single one of the team.

Splashing around trying not to giggle, she ducked under the water, letting them swim right up to her before she popped up again like a cork, snorting with laughter, salt water in her eyes and mouth and her hair everywhere over her face.

“Miss Elizabeth,” said Artie breathlessly. “Are you alright?”

She laughed at his expression. His eyes were wild with an edge of confusion. He looked like a half drowned sheepdog. She felt mean and she didn't care. “Yeah, I'm fine,” she said distantly, floating on her back again after taking a quick look at the shoreline. It seemed as though Bianca and Adriana had noticed the commotion too because they were slowly swimming over to where she and the boys were.

“Well,” he said, keeping to only a mildly exasperated drawl, “it looked a bit like you were drowning. Are you sure you're okay?”

At that, all three of them burst into laughter. She heard his heavy sigh as he turned to swim back to the rest of the team.

“It's fine,” he said shortly. “She's fine.”

A minute later, Bianca and Adriana arrived. “What was that about?” They asked at the same time.

“Well, Lizzie has a security team and they don't want her to drown, it seems,” laughed Antonino. “I wonder…whether they'd have to come back out again if I pulled you under,” he said, grabbing her by her middle.

She shrieked, wriggling away from him, splashing him heavily with water. His hands had wandered over her middle and cupped her bottom for just a second. It was making her feel delightfully adventurous. He was  _ definitely _ flirting with her.

“Pretend again. Will they come back do you think?” She whispered, bobbing up against him deliberately. 

“I think that's going too far,” broke in Simon, shooting his friend a nasty look. “Don't you think, Tony? Let's just swim. No need to get Lizzie in trouble.”

“She's their boss, isn't she? She can make them come in and rescue her as many times as she likes,” responded Antonino, lazily splashing Simon’s face with water as he spoke.

For a second Simon looked  _ really _ annoyed. Then his face smoothed over. “Fine, if you think they haven't had enough exercise for today, go ahead.”

His friend didn't even wait for him to finish. He jumped gleefully on Lizzie’s shoulders, forcing her under the water. She felt a moment of panic as she struggled. His hands had run briefly down her front, squeezing her so quickly she was barely sure if it had occurred. He let her up again, and she gasped for air as Antonino pulled his hand up again, yelling, “help, help!”

She laughed once more, copying the blond boy, her hand waving in the air, feet kicking up water so it looked once again like she was drowning.

It was only some silly fun really. No one was getting hurt. And they clearly didn't really believe this time around that she was in danger. She could tell by the way they took their time coming back out to help.

She wondered how many times in a row she could get them to come and ‘rescue’ her. 

Well, she’d see.


	14. Chapter 14

“Lizzie, come out here please,” Red called to her. He was furious. The head of his security team stood awkwardly in the living room. He hadn't relished being the one to reveal Lizzie’s behavior. But  _ he _ wasn't the one who was about to face some much needed discipline. He'd done perfectly right and Red was quite pleased with his handling of the situation.

With Lizzie, not at all pleased.

She bounced out of her bedroom. She'd just had a shower after spending all afternoon at the beach with Simon and his friends. She had an easy expression on her face til she caught sight of Artie, his most trusted bodyguard.

She stopped in the entrance of the living room, a look of distaste on her face.

“Lizzie, come here,” he said, beckoning her to him.

She reluctantly moved further into the room. “I was just mucking around,” she said resentfully, the fingers of one hand curling around the scar on the other.

“So you  _ do _ know what this is about?”

She glanced again at Artie, her face darkening further. “Yeah, so me and Simon were just playing around, pretending to drown.”

“Is it true that you had some sort of competition going to see how quickly your security came in to rescue you?”

She ducked her head. “Yes,” she muttered. “But it was just harmless fun. You don't have to be so uptight about it.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “I don't consider playing the girl who cried wolf to be  _ harmless fun _ . In fact, it's quite dangerous. The security I pay for to protect you is the best there is, Lizzie and they take their jobs very seriously. I don't appreciate you making it harder for them to ensure your safety.”

She sighed huffily. “Okay fine. I get it. I won't do it again. Jeez.”

His lips thinned. There it was again. That attitude. She'd been a pleasure to be around since the drinking incident and she'd been completely his since she'd cut ties with Sam but he knew it couldn't last. She was testing her boundaries with him once more. Only this time, he had a sure fire way to bring her to heel.

“Alright then,” he said. “I feel that I ought to punish you. There really should be consequences for such thoughtless conduct but Simon is seventeen and has far less of an excuse. Go and get him for me please.”

A look of alarm passed over her face. “No, dad I'm sorry! It was all me! He was barely playing the game.”

Raymond hid a smile. “He should have stopped you altogether,” he said seriously. “I'm afraid this is the second time I've let him off. I can't keep doing that. Particularly when your safety is involved.”

“But it was my  _ fault _ ,” she protested passionately.

He pretended to consider for a moment. “Alright, if it was so very much your fault, convince me you've learnt your lesson. I want you to think of a fitting punishment for yourself and come back to me before dinner. If it's suitable, I won't need to go and speak to Simon.”

She hesitated, not expecting this turn of events. “What...what kind of punishment?”

He arched an eyebrow. “That's for you to decide. It will need to be a proper reflection of the serious nature of your behavior if you expect me to believe you really are sorry.”

She nodded miserably, turning away back down the hall to her bedroom.

Good. Let her stew there for a while. She couldn't come to any harm there.

He turned to Artie. “Thank you for letting me know. If anything of the kind happens again, I'll need to be briefed immediately, of course,” he said smoothly, nodding his head in a clear dismissal.

And now the waiting game.

He decided he would be cooking dinner that night. He didn't want Fabiana or anyone else interrupting them. He was curious to see if she'd come up with a satisfactory punishment.

The smell of sauteed onions had started to drift through the house when she crept from her bedroom, standing in front of him in the kitchen.

“I just don't know,” she said, spreading her arms out helplessly. “Can't you think of something? I promise I won't say no to it, whatever it is.”

She wouldn't say no to him. He felt liquid heat snake it's way through his groin. There were a lot of things he could do to punish her. He could take away something in her bedroom that she cared about. Her room was beginning to look like a magpie’s nest, festooned with pretty, shiny things.

He could ground her. She wouldn't love that. The villa was comfortable but there were far more interesting things to be doing outside the house.

Or he could spank her.

He had never done so before. He hadn't lived with Katerina, only visiting them both secretly when he could get away. And it hadn't been his parenting style anyway. With any of his children.

He looked at her now, feeling sick with excitement. He wanted to spank his daughter. He felt arousal and self hatred warring within himself. Why? Was this because she was so helpless now? She'd cut herself off from Sam and his protective instincts were running riot. He enjoyed her clinging to him as the only safe and constant thing in her life. Was he taking advantage of that?

Could he spank her without it becoming...strange?

He almost didn't care.

“Well then perhaps I should spank you,” he said, rolling his tongue over the words. “You behave like a child, you get treated like a child. How's that for you?”

“You want to spank me?” She asked, revulsion, confusion and a hint of fear flitting across her face in quick succession.

“You deserve it,” he said crisply, lapsing into a dignified silence. He turned around to stir the bolognese on the stove top.

He didn't turn back to her, pretending to ignore her, but in truth he was hyper aware that she hadn't moved from her position since he'd spoken.

“Fine,” she said reluctantly after a while. “Do you want to get it over with then?”

He turned back to her, his expression crushingly aloof. “It can wait until after dinner.”

Dinner. He watched her all through the meal as she choked down her spaghetti. He was numb, his mind was justifying his decision desperately, scrabbling for logic. It was a valid disciplinary measure. He wouldn't touch her inappropriately. She would bend over his knee, fully clothed and receive a sharp lesson to remind her to behave.

It was a good thing that she was choosing to allow this. She was becoming more malleable. She was learning to submit to his authority as her father.

“When you've finished, come and see me in the study,” he said, giving her a searching look. Was she going to be obedient?

He waited for her, seated in the corner of the study. He waited for at least a quarter of an hour. He had just made the decision to get up and select a book from the bookshelf near the window when he heard a hesitant knock at the open door. She'd come.

He sat back in his chair. “Come in, Lizzie,” 

She slowly entered the study. He had turned on only the desk lamp for light, so shadows moved around the room in strange shapes.

“If you do this, you'll leave Simon alone? You won't kick him out of the house?” She asked anxiously.

“I won't. But I hope you'll take note of the lesson as well, Lizzie.”

She nodded. He was going to tell her she should bend over his knee. She wasn't required to bare her bottom, but to his shock, she unzipped her jeans and approached his chair, jeans pooled around her ankles. 

“What do you want? Over your knee then?” She asked nervously.

He felt as though the air had left his lungs. She was so sweet, so silly. He wanted to stroke her, not spank her. Why was he doing this again? He could barely remember. The little darling was offering herself up for a bare bottom spanking, to save her friend.

He just nodded at her, speech was beyond him at that moment.

She bent herself over his lap, cautiously positioning her body so that she was lying right across him, her legs horizontal in the air.

He raised his hand, preparing to bring it down across her bottom but found that he couldn't. When it came to it, his hand remained hovering in the air, high above her buttocks. Realisation dawned on him as tears pricked his eyes. He couldn't cause her pain. Even if it were to be effective in teaching her the lesson, he didn't care. He couldn't raise a hand to his little girl.

“Lizzie, hop up,” he said, his voice cracking.

She looked around at him curiously.

“I can't hit you, hop up sweetheart,” and this time he pulled her upright.

She stood, confusedly groping for her jeans and pulling them back up her legs.

“What was that all about then?” She asked disgustedly.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said shortly, rushing out of the room.

He felt hideous guilt engulfing him.

Just as well he'd stopped. Just as well. Would he have kept it to a spanking? He honestly wasn't sure but he'd do anything to be free of these feelings.

_ Anything _ , he thought to himself brokenly as he cowered in the bathroom.

* * *

 

Lizzie's legs barely carried her to her bedroom before she collapsed onto the floor behind her door. 

She wasn't sure what had happened. Panic was starting to rise in her chest, crushing her windpipe, almost making her dizzy.

He was angry with her. She had felt ashamed when she'd come to stand in front of him in the living room. She knew it was a pretty poor thing to have done. She'd known that the whole time. She'd felt so hateful and hurt though that she had pushed her scruples aside.

She swallowed a sour taste on her tongue. He'd wanted to smack her like she was a baby...and then...he didn't.

She had felt disgusting and strange, bent over his knees like that. It hadn't felt like a punishment, it had felt like some sick game.

Was there something wrong with her? She hadn't wanted to be spanked, she'd been furious that he demanded her humiliation in that way. But then he pushed her off his lap as though she really  _ were _ disgusting. And then somehow it was worse that he wouldn't punish her. 

Her hands balled into fists and she drew her knees up to her chin, hunching over herself, hating herself. Maybe Sam had stopped calling because he was disgusted with her too?

Was she really not capable of inspiring anyone to want her? She repressed a shuddering sob at the thought.

Maybe there was a god. She didn't have anyone else to love her. Would god love her? No matter what she did? 

Tears steadily dripped down her chin for what must have been hours. Her eyes ached. She wanted her mother, but she was long dead. She wanted Sam, but he'd become tired of her refusal to speak with him. She wanted Raymond...she didn't understand the feelings in her chest, but she wanted him to love her, to care about the things she did, whether they were right or wrong.

She needed him, she needed him to hold her, to fold her so tightly into his arms that she couldn't breathe. Staying here with him if he didn't love her was such an awful thought. If he didn't want her, if he truly only saw her as a duty now, then she would go. She didn't know where but the idea of him falling out of love with her was so terrible that she'd rather go and live under a bridge, she thought, sniffling her tears back.

She stood up on wobbly knees, opening her door and quietly walking down the hall to his room.

She knocked but didn't wait for his answer, turning the door handle and slipping into the master bedroom where she had been sleeping with him most nights.

He'd been startled by her entrance. He was lying stretched out on the bed, blankets and sheets draped casually over him. He was slightly propped up on the bed with pillows under him, looking oddly flushed and he sounded out of breath.

She didn't spare a thought for it. “I'm sorry,” she said, her voice breaking over the words. “Please don't leave me.”

The discomfited and stiff expression on his face slowly turned to horror. He sat up in the bed, bringing his arms out from under the blankets, reaching for her. 

“Come here, Lizzie, my precious girl.” 

Oh, it was going to be okay. He sounded warm, loving, forgiving. She rushed into his arms, letting her fears go completely. She sobbed, tucking her head under his chin. He  _ did _ love her. He was whispering soothing words of love and she was telling him how lonely she was, how afraid and uncertain.

He did love her. She just had to stop annoying him so much. 


	15. Chapter 15

 

Lizzie sat on the edge of the pool watching Simon do laps. She'd woken up in her dad's bed again that morning and she'd never felt so relieved to have him there. It had been awful, thinking he was tired of her.

She couldn't help but think that a lot lately. Everyone was getting tired of her. She wondered if Simon was too.

He'd flirted with her occasionally, at least she _thought_ he did. It was hard to tell. But yesterday Antonino had definitely been flirting with her. He'd been a bit handsy. She wasn't sure if she liked that but she _did_ like Simon’s reaction.

He hadn't been thrilled with Antonino’s attention on her.

Splashing her legs a little in the water, she called out to him, “hey, I saw you working on a motorbike the other day. Is it yours?”

He looked up, his eyes brightened as if he hadn't seen her there, too focused on his swimming. He swam over to the side, pulling himself up out of the water to sit beside her. “It is, it's a Ducati. My uncle sold it to me. It needs some work but it runs well.” He grinned at her. “I could take you for a ride?”

Feeling a tiny tendril of satisfaction in her belly, she giggled nervously. God why was she giggling? He was totally flirting with her. She had to be cooler than this. Her fingers scraped the cement as she scrambled to stand up. “Why not now?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Alright,” he said, leaping nimbly to his feet. “Let me dry off and we can get out of here.”

She scrambled to stand up too, eager for an adrenaline rush, something to distract her from the persistent melancholy that had been dogging her. A motorbike ride would be perfect.

She half turned to go, thinking he'd lead the way to his garage but he didn't move, just standing at the edge of the pool, his towel around his neck. She turned back to him. “Are we going then?” She was curious. He was giving her an odd look.

“You know, you're really very pretty,” he said.

She flushed. It was a strange way of saying it. He almost sounded...surprised.

He was so tall, much taller than her. He took a step forward, his muscled body glinting in the sun. She was mesmerized by the way each small droplet of water just sat there on his shoulders and biceps.

He was so close to her now. Her throat felt dry and she started to feel panicky. If he was going to kiss her, was she ready? She would have practiced with an iced cupcake like Candice had suggested if she'd known she was going to get kissed this year by a hot Italian.

He bent his head.

Oh god, he _was_ going to kiss her. She suddenly felt dizzy as his lips brushed hers, just a test, to see if she was into it.

She was. He took a step further, his hands gently coming to rest on her hips, his lips pressed to hers. _Oh this is nice_ , she thought wildly.

“I beg your pardon,” came a harsh voice from the entrance to the pool enclosure.

They sprang apart.

Her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment, her dad had seen her. It was her first kiss.

She wondered somewhat tangentially if he had seen that she had kissed him back. What would he make of her first kiss. Did he think she was maybe good at it?

Her thoughts galloped through her head while she waited for a further reaction from him.

He came forward into the pool area. “Simon, we need to talk,” he said grimly. “Come with me,”

“No, dad,” she cried out, horrified. Was he going to do something awful and mean like kick Simon out?

“Lizzie, run down to the marina. Fabiana wanted Simon to go and collect the order from the fishmonger but I think that's a job for you today. Off you go,” he said, leaving no room for discussion, turning around and heading back into the house like he expected them both to obey him to the letter.

They did.

Lizzie crept down to the marina, a sick feeling in her stomach. She was so worried for Simon. She had _wanted_ him to kiss her, and really it was just a kiss. Her dad had no right to be upset.

Chewing on her lip, she waited in line at the fishmonger. The fish was fresh caught; sea bream, monkfish, squid, shrimp, clams of different sizes. Fabiana could make a killer seafood pasta and they had a lot of fish in their diet.

Lizzie loved it. It was so novel, eating seafood almost every day.

She barely noticed her purchases now though, handing the money over as if in a dream.

The walk back was a nightmare. She was desperate to return to the villa and terrified she might come back to see Simon packing his car or with a black eye courtesy of her angry father.

So she was extra quiet when she entered the house. Like a squirrel hiding a nut for the winter, she buried the seafood in the refrigerator and looked around her unhappily.

The whole house was silent.

Reminding herself to be stealthy, she went in search. They must be somewhere here.

When she made her way to his study, she was pretty much dead certain they were in there. And if they were in there still, her dad was probably reading Simon the riot act.

So when she thrust the door open with a bang, the sight that met her eyes took her back for a moment.

Her dad and Simon were seated in armchairs, laughing about something, cigars and crystal cut tumblers of scotch in hand.

It didn't escape her though, that there were two beautiful antique looking revolvers lying in bits on the desk, completely disassembled. It looked like they'd both been cleaning one each and had gotten to drinking and smoking before they were done.

She cleared her throat and both sets of eyes turned to her inquiringly.

“How did the seafood go? He asked gravely, as though she'd been tasked with bringing home a suitcase full of hundred dollar bills.

“Fine, it's in the fridge,” she huffed. “Are you done with Simon? It's just that he was going to take me out on his motorbike,” she said, confident that her dad would freak out and stop her.

It's what Sam would have done.

He just regarded her thoughtfully, his glass of scotch under his nose as though he were savoring his favorite smell.

It probably was his favorite smell at that.

“Yes, you can both go,” he said, inclining his head. “Simon hasn't forgotten the few lessons I shared with him about...safety, just now, have you Simon?

The poor guy shook his head vigorously, standing up to follow her quietly out the door.

“What did he say to you?” She demanded  as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Nothing, everything is fine,” he said, sweat beading on his forehead and a sickly smile on his face

They had been walking down the side path to Fabiana's little detached garage beside her apartment.

“What! Ugh, whatever,” she cried, throwing up her hands and walking away back to the house.

“Where are you going?” He called out to her, his footsteps not far behind her.

“Home! I don't like being lied to.”

He grabbed her arm and turned her around to him. “Don't you want to go for a motorbike ride?”

Fully intending to reject him, she jerked her arm away, looking into his face, scathing words ready to spill from her lips but then she took in his anxious expression.

He looked terrified.

“Simon,” she laughed in frustration. She'd try and be nice. He was being a bit silly though. “It's a thing American parents do. They're more overprotective I guess. But he's not...I mean he wouldn't really do anything to you.” She stepped closer to him giving him an upward glance she intended to be inviting but his face almost turned green and he stepped back from her.

“Lizzie, I should not have kissed you, I’m really sorry but you're just a kid. If you want to go on a motorbike ride we can do that but I won't kiss you again.” He folded his arms after his little speech, confident he'd had the last word.

Hands on hips, head cocked to the side, she stared back at him, unimpressed. “You don't kiss _kids_ that way. I don't know what you're so scared of. You were into it before Raymond caught us. That whole thing with the guns, cleaning them together?...that was silly. He was just joking with you."

Simon’s eyebrows shot up. “You don't know what you're talking about, do you? I suppose you can't know what it's like living in the south."

“What? What's that got to do with anything?”

Giving her a tentative sidelong glance, he slunk along to sit on the edge of a retaining wall at the side of Fabiana’s small front garden. “Do you know how my grandmother met Mr Reddington?”

“No,” she said slowly. “Why would I?”

He took a deep breath. “Grandmother worked as a servant in the house of a Camorra crime boss in Napoli-”

“What's a Camorra?”

He shot her a surprised look, as though she ought to know. “The local mafia. You know, yes? There is not a lot of work down here in the south unless you are connected to the Camorra in some way...or pay money to them. She wasn't treated very well. She'd been with them since my mother was a girl. And do you know what happened? Mr Reddington was staying with the family one day and my Grandmother was being hit around the face with a strap by the lady of the house because she had accidentally dropped a bottle of perfume. Mr Reddington...he demanded the woman stop beating my grandmother, and when she wouldn't, he struck her.”

Simon licked his dry lips. Lizzie was waiting eagerly for the next part of the story. Her dad was a good guy. He rescued Simon’s grandmother.

“What happened then?” She asked eagerly. “Did he take Fabiana to work for him then?”

“Nooo, that's not quite...well, you see, when you insult the wife or family of a Camorra leader, you either kill that family or you end up dead yourself.” He looked again at her, his eyes darting around in an odd nervous way. “He killed every family member that night. Executed the lot of them. He didn't need a reason. He didn't say it was because of my grandmother. He didn't need to. The Concierge of Crime does not need to give his reasons for such things."

“That's horrible.”  Lizzie shivered, sitting beside Simon, taking his hand into her own, and looking up at him trustingly. “There wouldn't have been any children though, would there? I mean, it was all bad guys right?”

“Lizzie,” he said, pained and uncomfortably aware that he might get into trouble for telling her as much as he had. “My point is, he is capable of great kindness, yes…but even the Camorra fears him. Not one other family challenged what he did. He is...not someone to cross. Please don't ask me to."

Slowly, he withdrew his hand from her grasp. “I'm going to go. I don't think the motorbike ride is a good idea after all,” he said quietly.

She didn't protest. She felt numb. She'd known he was a criminal but hearing that he'd shot people, really hearing a description of his activities scared her.

And she was angry. She shouldn't have to be scared. Why couldn't he be like normal dads? What had he actually said to Simon? He must have said _something_.

She was winding herself up to go and confront him, getting angrier and angrier.

* * *

 

Raymond pushed aside the ugly thought that perhaps he only wanted her to turn her maiden thoughts from Simon to himself. It was just a stray, foolish idea, surfacing up from his hind brain like a poisonous gas bubble. He was still adjusting to a teenage daughter, that was all. And she was far too young to be kissing a seventeen year old. A boy on the cusp of manhood wouldn't be satisfied with her kisses for long. He had every right to protect her innocence. No, he had a _responsibility_ to protect it.

Letting them both go off together had been a calculated risk. He knew exactly how he'd made the boy feel. He'd been in his very shoes some time ago. Caught in the act in his senior year with Melissa Briggs, he'd expected her father to chase him out of the house with his hunting rifle. Instead, he'd sternly told the sweet Melissa to go and help her mother prepare dinner while he had a ‘talk’ with the young Raymond.

His life to date could hardly be called a carefree one, even so, that next half hour with Melissa’s father still rated in the top ten most hair raising times in his life. Mr Briggs had exuded friendly menace as he took him into the family den, beginning a cordial conversation about hunting, his favorite pastime. He'd proudly shown off his rifles, all the while staring at the young Raymond with an odd, knowing smile on his face.

He'd been fine of course but somehow, Melissa lost her allure. There were other girls after all.

Lost in thoughts of high school sweethearts and simpler days, a soft and foolish smile had crept onto his face and he wasn't really prepared for Lizzie’s whirlwind re entry into the house.

“What did you say to him!” She demanded at the door of the study, her hands on her hips, a dark look on her pretty face.

“Lizzie,” he welcomed her in grandly, his own hands spread wide, gesturing for her to come further into the room. He'd had enough scotch to feel a little like blurring some edges with his dear daughter. “Didn't I tell you I'd be happy to talk to you about the birds and the bees? Come in, come in, let's have that chat now.”

Frowning, she stepped further into the room. She was too angry to be discomfited by his offer. “You know that kids tell each other things right?” She scoffed. “I know more than you think and I _don't_ want to talk about this with you. I want to know what you told Simon.”

“More than I think hmmm? Do you know the mechanics of sex?” He asked, genuinely curious now. “You know, tab A goes into slot B. How about the male appendage? Have you even seen a penis?”

He didn't know why his mouth was running away from him like this. Perhaps he enjoyed shocking her. But this time he didn't succeed.

“I've seen yours,” she snapped.

“I-wait, you've...no you haven't,” he said, panic filling his veins. He knew he'd been drinking a lot lately but he would _never_ have…

She had the grace to blush. “The other morning, in bed...you were kind of hanging out of your boxers. It was an accident,” she hastened to assure him. “You were asleep and it was weird...you...I didn't mean to look but you were like…growing.”

She stopped there, going almost cross eyed with the effort of avoiding his expression.

He was utterly flabbergasted. He wasn't angry, just...surprised. And then he wondered why he didn't recall this himself.

“I didn't wake up ‘hanging out’, as you say, at any point recently. I think I'd remember that.”

She looked even smaller, if that were at all possible.

“I put you back. You were all there and I was just trying to help. I figured you wouldn't want to wake up like that.”

He swallowed.

She'd touched his penis. While he'd been asleep.

“Well, apparently we _are_ going to need to have that birds and the bees conversation and it might need to include the topic of consent,” he said, feeling a slight tinge of shame at his own hypocrisy.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so if you've stuck with me so far, I thank you.  
> I want to make it clear once again that this fic is an exploration of personal issues.  
> The next chapter contains a graphic sex scene. Please don't continue if this is triggering for you.


	16. Chapter 16

“Ho tenuto la mia lingua. È abbastanza. È abbastanza! Lei parla alla ragazza!”

Fabiana’s angry voice boomed through the house in the early hours of the morning. It woke both of them up. Lizzie was cradled in her dad’s arms, his legs tangled with hers, his mouth against her neck. He'd drooled a little on her shoulder but instead of being disgusted, she shook free an odd thrill at the feeling of his saliva on her skin.

She rolled over at the same time that he did. His face looked like a thundercloud. She wondered uneasily what Fabiana was yelling out in the hall and to whom? She understood the word talk and child but that was about it.

Before her feet had hit the floor, Rosa burst into the room without knocking. Lizzie almost felt a pang of sympathy for her. She looked incredibly stressed.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” she said with false brightness. “My mother was collecting the laundry and noticed you haven't slept in your bed these past few nights. She was worried that you had gone missing. Do you...do you sleepwalk?” She inquired lamely.

“Rosa,” her dad said sharply, frowning dangerously. “Fabiana can go home please. Lizzie’s bed linen can wait for another day.”

Rosa turned slowly, almost unwillingly, to look at him for the first time since she'd entered the room. Her naturally olive skin had faded to a strange green tinge with two pink spots high on her cheeks. She gave him a steady look, and one of such intensity that he looked away, saying gruffly, “it's far too early in the morning for shouting. Or bursting in on someone simply trying to sleep. Off you go.”

He managed to be firm and playfully insulting in his tone all at once. Lizzie wasn't at all sure how he pulled it off but Rosa practically fled the room.

Well that had been out of the ordinary.

Her dad rolled back into the bed, lying on his side, turned away from her.

“What was that about?” She asked, propping herself up on an elbow. “Dad?”

He made an annoyed noise in his throat and turned back to her. “Fabiana is being a hysterical old woman. Never you mind. I'm sorry that she disturbed your sleep. Lie back down, Lizzie,” he said, reaching to draw her back into his embrace.

She did lie down, nestling into his arms, but the worry over what had just happened wouldn't leave her, gnawing at her insides. She tried to put it together like a puzzle. It had something to do with her bed sheets?

Was Fabiana unhappy about their sleeping arrangements? She knew it wasn't...usual...not exactly. But neither was being separated from a parent for so long. Her dad seemed to be saying that the normal rules didn't apply.

He was right wasn't he?

She felt a pang of loss spear through her. If she could get on the phone and talk to her dad...to Sam, she'd feel so much better. He would give her the right advice.

It was probably time, she decided. Time to swallow her pride and call Sam. She missed their talks. It felt like a piece of her chest had been surgically removed, all she had was a hollow ache and the occasional excruciating pain to remind her of her loss.

She should have heard him out. But she'd call now and she'd listen. And then maybe she could ask him about sleeping in the same bed with Raymond. It was probably fine but her dad would tell her for sure.

It was late morning by the time he turned over to her, giving her a mildly grumpy, one eyed stare. “We've been sleeping in a little too long most days. It's not my usual modus operandi, I'm afraid.” He yawned widely, illustrating his concern regarding slothful habits. “You'll want to get used to early mornings when school starts too,” he added, kissing her on the cheek before getting out of bed.

Waiting patiently, she watched as he rose from the bed, stretching languorously like a cat waking up from an afternoon nap. He padded through to the ensuite bathroom, locking the door behind him as he always did. He'd be in there for at least forty minutes. His morning ritual was long and involved, including meticulous showering and grooming. She had time to talk to Sam, tucked up in between the sheets.

Rolling herself across the bed to Raymond's side, she quietly picked up the handset on the phone and dialed her home number, pausing to try and remember the international codes.

She waited expectantly, humming to herself, trying to push away the coil of nerves in her belly.  It would be okay. He'd probably still want to explain about the money. He wouldn't be angry. It wasn't like _she_ was the one that had done something wrong.

At first she didn't absorb the robotic voice on the other end of the phone.

 _...that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try your call again_.

No.

That wasn't right. She slammed the handset down and dialed again with trembling fingers. She'd just misdialed, that was all. Try again. It was just a misdial.

_We're sorry. You have dialed a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try your call again._

Her heartbeat must have been going as fast as a hummingbird's wings. She felt dizzy. Clutching the handset, she leant over, putting her head between her legs, trying to catch her breath. There had to be an explanation.

She tried again.

And again.

Each time, the same unwelcome message assaulted her ears.

He had just bought that apartment recently. There was no way he'd moved. Unless he was done with her? Had he moved on to his old lifestyle? The one where he was on the road six nights out of seven looking for the latest con?  He'd told her about his life before she'd come along. It had sounded exciting. Also, completely unsuitable for a child which is why he'd settled...mostly. They stayed for as long as he could stand a place. He loved to roam. She knew that he curbed that desire, sacrificed his preferred lifestyle for her sake.

Maybe not anymore? Was he _done_ with her? He couldn't. He was her dad.

“Please, please, please,” she begged softly to herself as she dialed her grandma’s number.

It just kept ringing and ringing and ringing. Her grandma didn't have an answering machine.

Aunt June did though.

She called through to her aunt.

_This is June. I'm out of town but if you leave a message, I'll be sure to get back to you when I return._

She slammed the phone down. Aunt June was _always_ out of town for work. She'd never gotten along with her anyway and she couldn't _bear_ to leave a message with her aunt begging her to call to tell her where her dad was.

“No, no, no,” she moaned, her face in her hands. Her head snapped up again. Just one more time. And then she'd go and tell Raymond--her dad, maybe he could help. She dialed.

_We're sorry. You have dialed a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try your call again._

She slammed the handset down repeatedly. “No, no, NO,” she half screeched, half sobbed. She grabbed the handset again and threw it across the room, shattering the full length mirror in the corner. She stared at it, open mouthed, her chest heaving and tears running down her cheeks. She hadn't expected that.

Raymond had heard the commotion, the sound of the shower had ceased abruptly and she heard him scrambling from the bathroom.

“Lizzie!” He called out anxiously. “Are you alright? I heard a crash.”

The bathroom door opened. He stood there, dripping onto the carpet, with nothing but a towel low around his waist, alert and on guard, his eyes doing a sweep of the room, taking in the broken shards of mirror strewn across the carpet and her small form, slumped forward on the bed, her body heaving with sobs.

“What's wrong,” he asked, flying to her side. He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his own. “Lizzie?”

“His phone,” she choked out, “it's disconnected. No one’s answering at my grandma’s or my aunt’s either. What's happening,” she cried, another flood of tears engulfing her.

His face crumpled sympathetically. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Are you sure you've dialed correctly though?”

“Yes!” She wailed, clutching his hand painfully. “You try! I don't understand.” She sat there, frightened and confused, looking to him for guidance. He would try and of course he'd get through on the first ring. She wanted to slow her breathing down but it wasn't cooperating with her.

She watched fearfully as he retrieved the phone from amongst the broken glass, thankful that he didn't say anything sarcastic about her penchant for destroying his things. Her eyes followed him to the side of the bed where he sat, legs splayed under his towel, his free hand resting on his thigh.

He dialled.

For a moment hope leapt in her chest and seconds later her heart came plummeting to earth again. His forehead wrinkled as he put the handset back. He turned to look at her and she couldn't hear it, didn't want to hear it. Sam had abandoned her because she couldn't even wait to hear his side of things. Raymond had said it wasn't about the money. Why hadn't she just accepted that?

She threw herself into his arms, heedless of the fact that he had a towel around him and nothing else.

“He left me,” she blubbered, her throat running with mucus. “How could he do that? I was going to talk to him, I was!”

How could he? She clutched onto her dad, he was so thankfully real. Her hands kneaded his body like a cat pianoing at its parent’s stomach. She felt his sharp intake of breath and the way he drew her into his chest, but felt it dimly, like it was barely happening to her.

He smoothed her hair, whispering into her ear. “It's going to be okay. Shhh, it's going to be okay.”

Soothing words. But it wasn't going to be okay. All she had left in the world was Raymond. She gripped him all the harder at the thought. If he ever left her, she'd have _no one._

She sniffed her tears back. He'd rushed out of the shower and hadn't had time to dry off. He was leaving her all wet as he kissed and comforted her. She didn't care. He hadn't hesitated. He'd come for her when he thought she was in danger. He loved her, he had suffered for her many times before, she thought mistily as her hands ran across his burned, naked shoulders.

It was funny, she didn't think she'd been so close to him with his upper body bare before. He was quite muscular, his tanned arms rippling slightly as he squeezed her. She closed her eyes and let his comforting words wash over her.

He was always right. If he was telling her that it would be okay...well then it just would be.

 

* * *

 

He sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his daughter in his arms. His instinct to protect her from pain was warring with a giant dollop of intense arousal. Could she know that when she touched his bare chest like that...her hands...Jesus. She had pushed her fingers through his chest hair, splaying them across his chest. It was crazy. She was hurting. He couldn't let himself think this way.

“It's alright, precious girl,” he said, kissing her cheek and pulling her closer into him.

She had her arms wrapped around him now so tightly and she was rubbing her cheek against his, her tears still wetting his face. Her skin was so kissable, so soft, so smooth.

He kissed her again, just on the cheek. His lips lingering a little longer this time. She turned her head toward him, her lips touching against his for just a moment.

And in that moment it was like a brush fire had taken hold of him. He tried to steady himself, to hold on, deny his impulses but it wasn't going to be enough.

Her mouth fit so easily against his. She tipped her head to him, fitting her body closer into his. She was made for him.

If he could have recreated the world in his own design, she would belong to him, body and soul. There would be no obstacles, nothing to separate them.

But this wasn’t his world, though he fiercely wanted it to be. He wanted to unmake her as a child, unmake her as his daughter and remake her as his lover. He could finally he honest with himself about that now.

She was perfect. Sweet. His. He had worked so hard for her, to keep her safe he had sacrificed ten years, done terrible things to his soul to claw his way to a position of strength. For her. He had earned her. Wasn't she his?

Didn't he deserve this?

Silently, as though he could deny what was happening if they both could just remain in a void without speech, he lay her down on the bed.

Her gloriously dark hair fanned out on the pale lavender pillow like watered silk. Her eyes met his, shining blue at him.

He bent his head to her, pressing his lips to her face. Her delicate skin was just begging to be caressed. And so he did, pushing her thin pyjama top above her arms, moving his hands over her. Her body had become familiar to him, without him even realising it. He hadn't stopped to think about that before, the danger of casual intimacy.

Their heavy, ragged breathing was the only sound in the room, a terrible duet, desire and shame, a discordant sound in the stillness.

The covers rustled as he moved his arm over her, his hand sliding along her stomach, finding its way under the elastic waistband of her underpants.

He sealed his mouth to hers as he quested with his fingers, feeling his way to her centre. She was so responsive, gasping into his mouth, kissing him hungrily, adorably clumsy in her attempts to love him.

One hand was down her pants, the other at her forehead as if he were taking her temperature. She was burning up, hot to the touch. Like an animal hunted in the wild, she was so quiet. His hand was moving again, this time his long fingers spread her folds open, caressing her, dipping into her wetness.

She twitched like a worm on a hook but still she made no sound.

She was so ready, he felt it. Her juices coated his finger, her body arched into him, silently begging him.

It should have been so simple, so uncomplicated. And perhaps it still was. He was going to take what belonged to him.

He shifted his hips, the towel around them finally falling away.

 

* * *

 

Everything was a blur, his hands fondling her, his lips caressing her. She hadn't expected this, it didn't seem like it was really happening, like a half awake dream. Time was trickling thicker and slower. She wasn't sure what had started or when but she was here, and he was here, and his kisses were so sweet. She'd bestowed her first kiss on Simon and he was nice but _these_ kisses, they were...shocking, arousing and they were exactly what she craved, she realised, as a frisson of excitement curled in her belly. She felt his fingers inside of her, probing, sliding in and out, brushing over that secret spot that she thought only she knew about. He knew. He was touching her in the same way she touched herself in private.

She wasn't sure what kept her silent. It felt like magic, like a spell, and to speak would be to break the spell. So she bit down on her tongue and writhed on his hand, desperate for more.

Her thoughts flew wildly to her virginity. He knew, didn't he? She'd never _said_ so but she'd told him herself that she'd never been kissed...not til Simon anyway. And anyway, it didn't matter. He could have this. It was nice. It felt so good. She didn't want to think about it. Why wouldn't her brain _stop_ trying to think about it.

She closed her eyes. It was okay. It felt so good. His breath was becoming heavier, she could feel it now, hot on her throat. It was okay, wasn't it? If he touched her down there? She could give him that if he wanted it. He was alone too. He'd come for her, suffered so much for her, to keep her safe. If he wanted this, he could have it. And it felt good anyway. It felt warm and safe. There was nothing wrong with this.

Her arms crept around his neck, he was so close, so good, he smelt wonderful. She let herself relax, deliberately unclenching her muscles. As long as she didn't think, this would be perfect. It felt amazing.

She felt bursts of deliciousness between her legs as he rubbed himself against her.  He moaned, the sound loud and guttural in her ear, his breath coming in panting gasps.

She felt him nudging at her. His penis was hot on her stomach. It was so _big_. He couldn't possibly fit, it was too big.

Her pleasure turned slowly into alarm as he moved himself over her, positioning at her entrance and so suddenly he was pushing himself into her, inching his way in.

“Oh no, no,” she implored as pain flooded her. She tightened her grip around his neck. “Please,” she wept.

“It'll be over in a moment, baby girl," he whispered. “Stay with me. It'll only hurt for a moment.”

It was awful for a few moments more, and she sobbed in pain and fear. It felt like he was going to split her apart. It hurt so much, but he was gentle in his caresses, slow as he moved inside of her. He kissed her and soothed her fear. “It's okay, it's okay, it hurts less already doesn't it, baby?”

She nodded. He was right. It was hurting less, only aching slightly now instead of that splitting pain.

“Dad,” she cried, burying her face into his chest.

“Ssshh, precious girl, shhh, tell me when it starts to feel good, hmmm?”

She looked up at him tearfully. It must have been the expression on her face that gave him pause because he stopped, brushing a tear away with his thumb.

“Sweetheart, let me make you feel good. You've been wonderful, darling,” he said, gently pulling himself out of her and moving down her body, spreading her thighs apart with his hands. “This will feel good, baby,” he said softly as he dipped his tongue into her.

A shocked gasp erupted from her lips and she lifted her hips to him in time with his tongue lapping at her, delving into her.

Her hands worked the sheets, she gripped them tightly.

“Unh,” she grunted as his teeth scraped lightly against her.

The sounds she made were spurring him on, his tongue flicked at her, quicker and harder, his mouth moving on her, increasing the pressure, he was _sucking_ on her. She felt a strange build up of sensation, the sweetest tingle in her groin, building, building, cresting, washing over her.

She shouted, gripping his head with her hands, panting, desperate for air in her lungs.

That had felt so wonderful. He was lifting his head to smile at her, his eyes warm and tender. He crawled back up beside her, taking her mouth again with his. And oh, his lips tasted so _strange_. She could taste and smell herself on him.

A golden glow suffused her limbs. She felt heavy, a pleasant languor, like a drug coursing through her. She returned his kisses, almost sleepy, so happy, so happy. So loved, comforted and surrounded by him.

 

* * *

 

He ached and trembled, fiercely thrusting his self condemnation to the back of his mind. He loved her, he would show her, she would see.

“This means so much more, Lizzie,” he whispered into her ear, dropping light kisses on her neck and jaw. “So much more than just sex. You're so special, you're the only one in the world, darling. I promise I'll never hurt you. I promise,” he said, ardent words of love spilling from his lips as he moved over her, parting her legs, opening her up again just like in the dreams that had been tormenting him.

“I love you,” she whispered back, tears leaking down the sides of her face, into her hair.

 _“Oh Lizzie_ ,” he breathed. “I love _you_ , precious girl.”

He had to believe that she wanted him in this way. She deserved better though, he knew this. She deserved his love and protection, she deserved a father. She shouldn't have to choose between sexual expression of his love or abandonment. But he had the haunting, gnawing feeling that was exactly the choice she felt she was making. It was the reason he buried his face into her hair now, as he penetrated her, his own flesh and blood. He couldn't look at her. She was his lover now, they could never go back, he could never undo this.

And he was honest enough to admit that he didn't truly want to.


	17. Chapter 17

“Rise and shine,” came a cheerful voice close to her ear. She jerked back at the noise.

She'd been in a light, fitful sleep. Her eyes opened blearily now and she found herself staring straight into her dad’s eyes. His face was up close to hers. Close enough that he would just have to tilt his head a little and his lips would be on hers. Close enough to feel his warm breath on her face.

She blinked the blur of sleep away from her eyes. Had she fallen asleep again? It must be mid afternoon. She felt the bleary, aching head that often accompanied sleeping for too long. It seemed as though her dad didn't have that problem. He was all dressed for the day, an eager expression on his face.

“Wake up Lizzie, we have things to do,” he said jovially.

She sat up, propping herself on an elbow.

All at once, the events of only a few hours ago came flooding back to her.

They had...she had…her mind couldn't take it all in. There wasn't a word for what had happened.

Her dad loved her so much. He wanted to be close to her, to make up for all their lost time. And it all made sense now. The feelings she'd been having for him. The possessiveness and the need for his affection and approval.

He loved her.

She smiled. “What things?”

“I want to fly to Switzerland today. We’ll stay a few days. There are two schools I have in mind for you. Both take day students and both are on the shores of Lake Leman,” he said enthusiastically. “You can take your pick, I've enquired this morning and confirmed informal offers of enrollment from both. It all depends on what town suits you, Lausanne or the smaller town of Clarens. It's up to you, sweetheart,” he said fondly, patting her on the head.

She felt a mild panicky lurch in her stomach. School in Switzerland. It was like in the books she'd read growing up. All those girls in boarding schools, the dormitories, the cliques, the midnight feasts. She'd be a day student though, an outsider.

“Can I-can we go back to America?” She asked tentatively. She ached for familiarity...and Sam.

He frowned. “I don't spend too much time in the U.S. Lizzie. It's just too risky. If you don't want to live with me, I suppose I could organize a boarding school in Pennsylvania or Massachusetts for you,” he said, sounding displeased.

“No, no! I wasn't saying that! I wasn't saying that at _all_. I want to live with you, I do. I'm just...scared,” she said miserably, sinking down into the bed, her chin resting on her hands.

His expression softened. “Ah, baby. There's no need to be scared. I'll be with you the entire time.”

She couldn't help her skepticism, she could feel her forehead wrinkling in disbelief. No need to be scared? Had he ever tried navigating the complicated friendships of teenage girls as the ‘new girl’ in school. She'd done it multiple times.

It was a mine field.

But his hand had crept to her face, smoothing out the lines of concern. “Don't look like that,” he said, gently reproving. “We’ll go and pick out a house near whichever school you choose. Would you like to take riding lessons? You're a bit old for a pony now but a nice thoroughbred mare might be just the thing. You'll be a real horsewoman in no time.”

She perked up a little at that. “That would be cool. Do I have to learn a new language though?”

He chuckled. “Both of them are international schools so lessons are taught in English but you'll be expected to learn French and German. It's all part of the curriculum.”

She sighed. “Okay then. But can I get a kitten?”

With a startled look, he chucked her under the chin. “You want-well I don't see why not.”

Well, there were some compensations to her new life, that was for sure.

* * *

 

“We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow,” said her dad, running his hands through her hair proprietarily as they settled back into the car.

It had been a long day. She'd decided on St George's International School. The principal was a nice, friendly woman in her early fifties. Ms Eveline Naeff had been the director of the school for nine years and she was very proud of the legacy she'd built, which impressed her dad. And she was refreshing and pleasant, which impressed her.

“House hunting you mean?”

“Yes. It's a nice little village. You're sure now though, Lizzie? Lausanne is a lot bigger. There won't be a lot to do.”

She rubbed her cheek thoughtfully. “Yeah, but I'll be at school all week and you have like...a jet if we wanna go somewhere else for the weekend right?”

He laughed airily. “I can see already that you're going to be my little party planner,” he teased, poking her gently and circling her waist with his arm, drawing her into him. “And where are we going for our first weekend away, hmm?”

His lips were in her hair. The car wasn't very private. Their driver was silent but he could see them up front from his rear vision mirror. She smiled nervously, glancing up at him. He seemed relaxed, he wasn't thinking of...or dwelling on...her mind skittered.

She leant into him, enjoying the feeling of his arm about her waist, thinking about his question.

Where could they go?

“You wanted to see the Taj Mahal?” He prompted.

Her eyes brightened. “Yeah! And can we go to Disneyland? I know you said I'm too old for it but I'm not really, not if I've never been before. Just once?”

He looked surprised. “Of course, precious girl. Anywhere you like.”

She grinned.

They pulled into the grand old hotel they were staying at. It was a nineteenth century treasure of a hotel, set above the lake in majestic proportions. Nothing here seemed to exist in the twenty first century, from the furniture in the small but elegant lobby to the creaking and slow elevator.

She followed her dad in, trotting close on his heels. She couldn't help but feel nervous in hotels like this. She felt like an overgrown, out of place baby with sticky, jam covered fingers.

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “would you like room service again tonight or do you want to go down to the hotel restaurant?”

“Room service please,” she whispered back, her heart glowing comfortably at the idea of him being so concerned for her comfort. He knew she felt a little overwhelmed. He cared.

By the time they'd finished dinner, she was exhausted. The dinner was lovely. Her dad ordered for them both. Steak and vegetables with bearnaise sauce. Delicious and it filled her up quickly. Her stomach felt bloated and her eyes were heavy. There was something so draining about talking to adults and being on your best behaviour for hours on end.

I think I'll just go to bed now, i’m super tired.” She yawned widely. It was earlier than normal but they _had_ had a late dinner and flying always made her tired for a couple of days.

She noticed he was quiet as she rose from her chair. He'd been steadily working his way through a decanter of scotch since before dinner. He'd been morosely fiddling with his glass through most of the meal, his eyes fixed on the complicated pattern on the side of the glass.

Glancing at the decanter, she realised with curiosity that he'd had three quarters of the bottle.

Wasn't that a lot?

She didn't know.

She moved over to his chair, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Night dad.”

He smiled up at her, a keen eyed expression on his face, despite the scotch he'd consumed.

He curled an arm around her, pulling her into him. “Good night, precious girl.”

But he didn't let go of her. She stood above him, his cheek resting on her belly, arm tight around her waist.

“Are you tired too?” She asked nervously, asked just to break the odd, uncomfortable silence.

He didn't answer her, just pulling her even tighter into him so that it almost hurt. “D-dad?”

“Shh,” he said, pulling her shirt up with his free hand and pressing his lips to the bare skin of her tummy.

A thrill ran through her. She hadn't thought about this at all yet. Hadn't thought about what they had done the previous day, not properly anyway. Some part of her just wasn't sure how to process it. So she'd ignored it. But she was thinking about it now. He moved his lips over her belly, the tip of his tongue leaving a wet trail across her soft skin,

“Dad,” she breathed, her voice squeaky, unmodulated. How could she breathe properly when he was doing this to her?

The lighting was so low, he'd only turned the lamps on the side board and mantelpiece on. Were they going to do _that_? Again?

Green, ponderous eyes looked up at her. “Lizzie, go and get ready for bed. I'll come in later.”

With that, he released his hold, patting her bottom and jerking his head toward the bathroom. “Off you go.”

She went, feeling numb. Was he going to do to her what he'd done yesterday?

She didn't know how to feel about it if he did.  But if he didn’t...she had the stomach clenching feeling that she'd feel terrible.

She brushed her teeth, pulling her pyjamas on and getting into bed. They had two separate rooms. It was a small suite with tiny bedrooms in the way of genteel establishments of the previous century but the dining room and what the caretaker had called the ‘parlour’ were a decent size.

Perhaps he wasn't coming. Perhaps he was too engrossed in his work. Or his scotch.

Would he come in? Or go to his own room like he had last night. They'd flown in the late afternoon and he'd been so distant with her, shutting himself away in the master bedroom of the hotel and making phone calls. He'd even told her to go and _play_. That had been weird. She had felt anger and embarrassment...but also understanding. Was he distressed about what had changed between them? She thought he might be.

It felt like hours, her eyes were getting heavier and she felt herself blinking rapidly in short, determined attempts to stay awake.

It was the longest time but he came into her room just as her eyes were sliding shut.

“Lizzie,” he called to her softly from the bedroom door.

He moved into the room, his feet were bare and made hardly any sound on the thick cream coloured carpet.

“Lizzie,” he said again as she dragged her eyelids open.

“Mmm,” she responded dreamily. She watched him sit on her bed, his body turned to her and he reached a hand out to stroke her face. His smile as he looked down at her was beautiful. So much love in it.

I've had a bit to drink, precious girl,” he murmured sleepily, the smile still on his face as he leaned sideways and fell into the bed on his back, fully clothed.

Well that was unexpected. She sat up in bed, looking down at his still form. He was breathing with a funny sound, a slight whistle every time he exhaled. She hesitantly reached out and poked him, like he was a sleeping lion. “Dad...are you awake?”

He didn't stir. She lay back down, this time on her side, quietly observing him sleep. He was so nice, so scary and wonderful, all hers. She had never felt this way before, this pull in her gut for another person. He could do anything to her and she'd need him, still want him.

“I wonder why,” she whispered with no one to hear her. “I wonder why you make me feel this way.”

She sat for hours just looking at him, her hands eventually creeping forward to caress his face, to unbutton his vest and loosen his tie. She hesitated a little longer before undoing his trousers and slipping his belt from his waist.

And she watched over him.

* * *

 

Red woke to a pounding in his head and a rasping dry throat.

Also an urgent need to puke.

He rolled over too quickly in his haste to get to the bathroom. It just made the dizziness worse. He barely made it to the cold, porcelain bowl.

“Are you okay?” Came her concerned little voice from the bedroom.

 _Their_ bedroom.

Had he touched her again last night? He groaned into the bowl. His stomach was distressingly empty. He hadn't gotten this drunk since...well.

He'd prefer not to think about it.

He felt her cool hand at his back. His darling daughter playing nursemaid.

He snorted at the irony.

“I’m alright Lizzie, leave me be for a moment. I've overdone it, just a little.”

He heard her soft laughter. “You were so drunk last night you were kissing my tummy at the dining table and then you told me to go to bed and then you kept drinking I think, and then you came to bed and you just fell down.”

He groaned again, louder this time, wincing at the noise created in his skull.

He'd been kissing her _tummy_?

Hardly worse than what he'd already done of course. He'd been waiting all of yesterday for reality to set in. It had been an excruciating day. Part of him had expected her to panic and run. Who would she run to though? The authorities? Was she even aware that he was untouchable? That he wouldn't allow her to get within ten feet of law enforcement or anyone who could impinge on his freedom.

The worst was, it was important for _her_ safety that he remain free. If he were to answer for what he'd done, it would only bring attention from the wrong people. Sam couldn't protect her. He wasn't even sure where Sam _was_. He'd sent people to look into his whereabouts quietly the previous day, wondering about the disconnected telephone.

Taking a deep breath, he savoured the sour feeling in his stomach. He deserved it. He'd make it up to her though. Once she was in school, they'd have a normal life, with routine and everything else he desired for them.

She seemed fine. It was a shocking let down for her. But she seemed fine. She was resilient. Like her father.


	18. Chapter 18

“Let's see, there was that four story red brick monstrosity on the Rue Du Lac. Not my idea of cosy but if you're going to that school, you're going to need to keep up with the Joneses and all that rot,” he said, grinning expansively at her. “Now if we’re talking cozy, our best bet would be that little villa on the shore, but it is a bit bang up against the neighboring houses and I'm not sure I could tolerate complaints from the neighbors over my taste in music...or the decibel level.”

She rolled her eyes. “You don't play a huge amount of music.”

He huffed in faux outrage, throwing an arm casually over her shoulder. “That's because I don't have my records with me. You just wait. I'm having them shipped to us as we speak.”

Deliberately relaxing her tense shoulders, she slowed down in the street they were strolling through to turn and look at him. “Are you...are you buying or renting,” she asked tentatively.

“ _We_ are buying,” he responded with marked emphasis on the ‘we’. Taking her hand, he shuttled them along to the end of the street where the car was waiting.

Always the gentleman, he opened her door, sliding in after her into the back of the car.  The cream leather seats squeaked as she settled herself in, strapping her seatbelt on. It was still a habit, using her seatbelt. Her dad rarely did. She'd never asked why.

“Can we keep looking? I just haven't seen anything that I'd actually want to live in,” she said, looking out the window at the grey, overcast horizon.

What a dreary day. The rain hadn't decided if it was coming or going. It just hung around, steadily dripping like a leaky tap. Lizzie hadn't thought before that she was affected strongly by the weather but today she wondered. There was such an oppressive feeling hanging over her. It probably was the weather.

He'd nodded at her, his face having just for a moment flashed anxiously but he was fully in control of his features now. “Of course. We’ll need to make a decision soon though, Lizzie...unless you want to start school living at a hotel.”

Why did she want to cry at that? He was being so patient and good tempered with her. She knew she was being a wet blanket, crying in corners when no one was around, entering rooms with red eyes which, try as she might to disguise them, didn't go unnoticed by him. Worst of all, he took it personally. She could see the heartbreaking way his face fell whenever he had a good look into her eyes.

She had to stop this. Sam was gone. Raymond was her dad and what's more, he _wanted_ to be. She just felt so heavy though, like she was carrying round a ton on her shoulders. If she were honest, it wasn't just the drizzly day that made her feel so listless.

Honesty was overrated.

She forced a smile. “I don't mind really. Why don't you just pick what you want? I don't know much about buying houses.”

A heavy sigh from between his lips alerted her to the fact that she hadn't put on a convincing enough performance. Her lower lip trembled. She had a feeling he was going to be cross with her.

Instead, he pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. “Lizzie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for your pain.”

It was all he said.

She closed her eyes, really feeling his arms around her, the weight of his chin on her head. It had been weeks now and he'd been so comforting and endlessly patient.

“I'm not in any pain,” she lied defiantly. He didn't deserve a grumpy, moping daughter. Not when he'd been so good to her. She had been _awful_ to him and he still loved her, still refused to leave her.

Not like Sam. She started to feel a swell of hatred for him. He had _left_ her, he'd gone on the road after less than a week of her refusing to take his calls. What kind of dad did that?

Someone who was only a dad for pay, that's who.

She wasn't going to bother with him anymore. Sam and his whole family could take a leap off a cliff as far as she was concerned. She was tired of being sad.

Angry felt better.

 

* * *

 

The car took them to the next place. The realtor was waiting for them outside. She took one glance as the car rolled up and just knew.

It looked like a large farmhouse. It probably _had_ been the homestead of a prosperous farmer at one time or another. It was massive, just as large really as the huge red brick house in the main street but it had more of a relaxed vibe about it. The faded pastel green outer walls and grey slate roof looked cheery and knowing, as though the house had been a part of people's lives before. The front lawns were tidily manicured but it backed onto untamed woodland.

She got out of the car, her interest firmly piqued. It wasn't likely she'd need any convincing but she listened to the mousy older woman anyway as she stood importantly in front of them, clutching her clipboard to her chest.

“As you can see, it's set on a number of acres,” confided the realtor. “The woodland it backs onto used to be cleared farmland but the forest has grown back a fair bit. The previous owners were environmentalists, you understand. But it can be cleared again easily enough.”

“No, no,” Lizzie broke in. “I like it the way it is. It looks kinda spooky. Not in a bad way,” she added quickly, shooting her dad a look. She wanted this house.

It was two stories but so tall, it looked as though it were three. They entered the house and looked around. There wasn't a stick of furniture left. The sellers had already departed. She spun slowly around a few times, getting a feel for the spacious front living room and the lovely detailed cornices on the ceiling.

A large spiraling double staircase of polished wood led up to the second floor. She didn't hesitate, bounding ahead of them both, taking two stairs at a time and found herself in the corridor which led to a number of bedrooms in a row. The last one was the master bedroom. It was larger than the rest and the bedroom next to it had been converted into an ensuite bathroom.

She wondered if he would still want to hold her until she fell asleep like he had so many times before. In this room maybe? The bath was a white enameled claw foot tub, with enough room to fit a reasonable tall person, lying down completely flat. It could probably squeeze two in really.

They'd caught up to her. She heard the realtor’s accented voice speaking animatedly, echoing in the empty space.

“The wiring is all new and the plumbing for the upstairs bathroom is also relatively new. The roof may need a bit of work but it's certainly sound for the moment.”

They reached the main bedroom together to find Lizzie lying stretched out on the wooden floorboards, looking straight up to the ceiling. “I like this room,” she said simply, glancing over at them.

She watched as her dad turned to the realtor. “We’ll take it,” he said.

 

* * *

 

They _did_ take it. However if she'd known the amount of shopping for boring stuff they were going to be doing in the next few days, she would have elected to continue living in the hotel, she thought grumpily as she trailed along after him in an uncomfortably posh furniture store in Geneva.

“I don't _care_ ,” she burst out finally as he held two different lamps out to her. “A lamp is a lamp is a lamp. Can we go see a movie?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fine, we’ll take two of both. And yes, we can go and see a film if you like. It'll help with your French.” He gave her a wounded look. “I haven't truly made a home for myself since before you were born Lizzie. Indulge me in this...please.”

Guilt flooded her. Why was she so awful to him all the time? She felt so angry and irritable and he was always so calm and forgiving.

“Sorry,” she muttered. It felt like she was always apologizing to him. She was awkward and mean. How did he still like her?

He smiled warmly, placing the lamps to the side. “Perhaps we do need a break. There are at least some things I can have an assistant purchase for us. Unless you have any preference for your linen? I've a penchant for nothing less than a thousand thread count and I do like the fluffiest, most over-sized Egyptian cotton bath towels that I can get my hands on but if you have any thoughts on the subject?”

She felt her blood boil again. Was he teasing her?

“I like sheets and towels to be there when I need them. Then I'm happy,” she said mulishly. “And if you make me look at pots and pans, I'm staging a mutiny.”

He laughed deliciously. It was a welcome feeling to know she had the power to amuse him like that still. His laughter was rich and wonderful. There wasn't much she liked more than being able to make a sharp enough observation about something to draw out his unfettered chuckle.

“You and what crew?” He teased, nodding politely to the sales assistant who had been dutifully following them around the store, making note of their purchases for shipping.

“I'll think of something,” she returned, allowing him to guide her out of the store with his hand at the small of her back.

“Well, perhaps a film and some ice cream will keep you in line,” he said smilingly.

It seemed by now as if ice cream was his way of fixing things. When they fought and made up, ice cream. When she was sad and moped in her room, ice cream. When she was rude to Simon because everyone sucked and she hated every single person in the world (even the cute ones), ice cream.

Even she had noticed the pattern and she wasn't exactly observant of much outside of her own little ball of unhappiness at the moment.

Hours later they sat on plastic chairs outside of an ice cream store in the historic part of downtown Geneva, watching the traffic rush by.

She licked her chocolate and strawberry ice cream neatly from the cone, aware that her father's eyes were following every movement she made.

“That was a silly movie,” she said assertively. “It's even sillier when you don't understand most of what's going on.”

“Well,” he reflected, scooping up a spoonful of nuts and cream from his caramel sundae, “you need to improve your French. This school doesn't play around. Money bought you an entry, but it's your smarts that will ensure your continued place there.”

Her stomach dropped. “What if I don't do so well?”

“You will,” he said confidently. “You're a bright child.”

Instead of reassuring her, it only added to her uneasiness. She did well at school but she'd never learnt another language, let alone two and what if she wasn't as good as she thought she was in her other subjects?

She suddenly didn't feel like finishing her ice cream.

It was better a few days later. He was keeping her so busy, she didn't have time to feel worried or sad or even angry. They'd whirled around the rest of Geneva and dashed into Milan for a day. He'd gone by himself to Istanbul to choose some furnishings. He'd been so worried about leaving her by herself for even a day that she didn't have the heart to leave the villa or talk to Simon. She waited in the living room and explored her new textbooks until he came back. The relief on his face at finding her safe at home and in a reasonable mood was saddening. She didn't want to be a burden on his mind but it was clear that she was.

She would be glad to leave the Italian villa behind. Things with Simon had been awkward and strained since he had kissed her and she hated Rosa as much as ever, guarding her father's one on one time with the woman jealously.

When the day came to say goodbye, she had nothing left to do. All her belongings had been packed and moved by men in her father’s employ. She stood out on the front step, nervously playing with the amber bracelet he'd given her all those weeks ago. She wore it all the time now. She looked up at the villa and then down toward the glittering blue and green sea.

She didn't want to come back.

Rosa was waiting at the side entrance. Her dad was down in the car, having already called on Fabiana, Rosa and Simon earlier.

“Lizzie-Elizabeth,” came Rosa’s uncertain whisper.

What did she want? Lizzie paused at the gate. “I've gotta go, my dad’s waiting in the car,” she said uncomfortably.

Rosa moved forward. “I just wanted to give you this,” she said quietly, handing her a small, unassuming package tied in butcher's twine. “It was very nice to meet you. I'm sorry...well, I'm sorry that we didn't get to know each other better.”

For just a moment she considered not taking the gift and running down the driveway to the car. She shouldered her tote bag though and took it, if a little reluctantly. “Um, thanks I guess.”

Dropping the unlooked for gift into her tote, she awkwardly waved goodbye to Rosa who smiled a strangely pained smile. “I hope you enjoy your new school.” It was all she said but her voice was thick with regret.

Was she wishing she hadn't tried to horn in on her territory? She _should_ wish that. Her dad didn't have time for girlfriends, he had no time for anyone but her now. He'd said so.

She threw herself into the car. He'd been ready for ages while she'd been tearing around the house looking for books behind cushions and earrings underneath the bed.

“What took you so long?” He asked a little acerbically.

She almost told him but something made her hesitate. She didn't want her dad to think of Rosa again. And it kinda irritated her that Rosa was so damned nice til the last minute.

She threw herself lazily across him, lounging in his lap. He was hers. She could touch him and be touched. He was her dad, there were no rules, no need for lines that couldn't be crossed. She buried her head in his lap and stared up into his face. “Girls just take their time,” she said cheekily.

He snorted, running a hand through her hair. “I knew a woman who could get out of combat gear and into an evening dress in under five minutes,” he shook his head in admiration of the memory. “Managed a passable French knot in her hair and even a touch of make up all at the same time.”

“What would she want to do that for?”

He gave her a disbelieving stare. “Well for profit of course. Best cat burglar I ever met. Her method? She'd scale the walls of a private property while a function was being held there and drop right in as a ‘guest’. The strategy seemed to work. I always wondered what happened to her,” he added absently.

She sat up a little, curiosity having got the best of her. The car had started moving and for once she hadn't bothered with her seat-belt. “Where did you know her from then? And why don't you know what happened to her? Was she like Mata Hari or something?”

“Oh no, much more effective than Mata Hari ever was. Think Nancy Wake...The White Mouse. Now _there_ was a spy to be frightened of.”

Biting her lip, she sat up even further, pushing herself into his lap, her legs draped over his and her hands fisted in the front of his shirt. “Would you teach me how to be a spy?” She asked in the best coy voice she could manage.

His response frightened her. He gripped her wrists, all humor wiped from his face, only grim lines left around his eyes and mouth. “No.”

It was enough. Just one word but the way he spoke, the way he looked at her...it was terrifying.

“Okay, okay, it was just a joke,” she quavered.

He shook his head, no less intense than before. “You are never to step a toe into any of that, do you understand? I'd rather shut you up in the house, never to see the light of day again, than have you risk your neck with that sort of thing. There will be times, Lizzie that I may need to bring some of what I do home but that is not an invitation for you to become involved, do you understand?”

He was so fierce and it was so unexpected that she wasn't really surprised when tears welled up, choking her response. “Yes,” she managed to get out before he pulled her close into him.

“Shh, shh,” he coaxed. There's no need to cry. I won't tolerate any threat to your safety, that's all. Shhh.”

To her confusion, she couldn't stop crying. She wasn't even sure what she was upset about anymore. But she barely had her tears under control by the time they got to the air strip.

She just wanted normal again. If she could just feel normal, she'd do anything. She'd never backchat again if she could just see Sam. She wondered what life would be like if she could have _both_ of her dads. She'd be so good 100 percent of the time if she could just have that.

She followed him onto the plane, silently cataloging the things she would do to be good, to be better, if she could just have what she'd lost.

  



	19. Chapter 19

“A kitten! Oh my god, you beautiful little…” She trailed off, looking up at him, a wide smile on her face and her eyes shining in that way she had that would send tremors through him.

He nodded. “Go on, she's yours.”

She didn't hesitate any further, flinging her tote to the ground and throwing herself on the Turkish rug in the small living room that was to be their family room. A wicker basket sat on the floor next to the coffee table in the middle of the rug. He'd arranged for the basket to be decorated with pretty pink satin bows.

Foolish and overdone, he was aware of it. But he couldn't help himself, remembering a time when he'd come to visit Katarina with pink baby clothes after Lizzie had been born.

Having her had been a dangerous risk but Katarina had been in love with him and he had been in love with the baby bump. In the end both of them had considered the risk worth it.

He'd had to hide them from his wife and his job. He hadn't been there when she'd had the scan that confirmed that they were having a girl. He hadn't even heard about it until after she had been born. He'd been out of the country for months. And when he came back, he barely got to see her but when he did, he'd bring armloads of pink onesies, pink hair ribbons, rattles, books, everything under the sun that he could purchase in pink.

The weeks and months after each of his children had been born had been the most wonderful of his life. Nothing else compared. So it was a little bit satisfying to bedeck a hand basket with ribbons and present his daughter with the kitten she so badly wanted. It certainly brought back memories.

“You're so cute, ohmygosh look at your eyes,” she cooed at the small bundle of steel grey fluff sitting in the palm of her hand. It mewled back at her as though they really were having a conversation. “Yeees, you're so cute, you're so cute, yes you are,” she gushed. “Daddy, look how green her eyes are!”

He stood stunned. It was as if she'd struck him. She didn't remember of course but there was a time when she'd run down the hall on chubby legs crying for daddy when she heard the coded knock at the front door.

Even then she'd known that knock meant her daddy was there.

And of course she couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her before the fire. He'd stayed a few days, which he rarely had the chance to do and they'd played games, read stories and mucked about in the backyard together, all three of them.

His heart twisted now, remembering her arms wrapped around his legs at the front door as he left her that one last time.

“Please don't go daddy, please don't go,” she'd grizzled miserably.

The most terrible thing was that she hadn't panicked, she hadn't shrieked, she'd begged like a child beyond her years, one who knew that his leaving was a foregone conclusion but her arms wrapped so tightly around his legs weren't listening, weren't ever letting go. It had taken Katarina’s full co-operation to remove his daughter from him without hurting her.

It was the last time she had called him daddy. The fire came so soon after that.

He'd heard her on the phone before now. She didn't know he had been listening to her phone calls with Sam. Most of the time Sam was dad but the endearment would occasionally slip from her and it always caused him a tense moment when he heard that word on her lips for someone else.

He shook himself from his reverie, thankful she hadn't noticed. She was far too engrossed in her kitten.

“It's a girl?” She asked, looking up at him again.

“It is. She's been weaned but we’ll need to take her to get her shots and have her spayed when she's a little older.”

She flung an incredulous look at him. “You're not spaying her. What if she wants to have kittens when she grows up?”

His forehead wrinkled. “Lizzie, if she gets out and mates with a stray around here, not only will you have a cat too young to safely deliver a litter of kittens but what will you do with them afterwards?”

There was no acquiescence clearing her pretty face in response to his words. Just a challenging scowl. He sighed. Oh well, a fight for another day. “What do you think you'd like to call her?” He inquired, keeping his voice deliberately light.

“Hmmm,” she considered, dropping to lie on her back, her kitten nestled into her chest, licking at her chin, causing her to erupt in giggles. “Lola, her name’s Lola.”

Lola it was then.

The damned thing was a nuisance, following her everywhere, crying without ceasing if it couldn't see her in the room. It was building up an attachment to Lizzie and no one else.

The little fluffball squeaked indignantly when he tried to pick it off of his bed that evening.

Lizzie came trotting into the main bedroom at the sound, her toothbrush still in her mouth. “What did you do? Why is she crying?”

“I didn't do anything,” he said patiently. “But I'd like to turn the blankets down on my side of the bed.”

She snatched the kitten off of his pillow with a wary look.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Am I in here tonight?” She asked bluntly.

He swallowed. “Do you need help sleeping?” He wished this uneasy feeling could be expelled like a lanced boil but he had an idea that he should get used to it.

“I always need help sleeping...but Lola might get confused.”

Lola might what? Good grief. What was she playing at?

“Lola will be fine wherever you put her basket down. She's been litter trained and she's been shown the spare room along the hall where her, I might say, extensive collection of toys await her. I don't think it's a problem Lizzie. So where do _you_ want to sleep tonight.”

She looked at him, a strange, defiant expression on her face, her kitten gathered to her breast.

“Your room is fully made up,” he continued, ignoring her odd expression. “It's up to you sweetheart but you do need to go to bed. You've got your first day of school in the morning.”

She jerked her head a little. “Okay, I'll sleep in here,” she said matter of factly. We’ll have to leave the door open for Lola.”

Indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

Lizzie had never felt ashamed of her background before. She went to schools where as long as you weren't too shy or had any particularly weird hang ups, there would always be a group to find herself in.

She'd been friends with pretty much everyone in elementary school. She'd lead the games they'd play at recess even though she was the new girl oftener than not. And in high school, well, there was always a niche. She'd gone through a time where she was hanging out with the sci fi nerds but had drifted away from them at her next school. When she'd left Sam she'd been a part of the drama club kids and had been enjoying herself.

No one ever asked what her dad earned or what he did. No one compared their parent’s cars out the front of her schools or boasted about the overseas holiday they'd taken at summer vacation. You sank or swam based on what you brought to the table.

She had the distinct feeling that things were different here.

“Hi, I'm Marty,” came a voice from her left.

A pretty Maori girl was seated in a small ergonomic chair in front of a smooth wooden desk. Lizzie had an identical chair and desk right next to her.

Her eyes brightened. “Hi, I'm Liz,” she responded, hopeful that she'd found her first friend.

“You're new, aren't you? We heard about you last week.” Marty flicked a look at the teacher who had just entered the room. “Come find me at the cafeteria at lunchtime. I'll introduce you to my friends,” she whispered just as the teacher started talking.

It was the first thing she did as soon as the bell chimed for lunch. The bell wasn't really a bell. It was more of a tinkling sound over the loudspeakers. Lizzie had swallowed a laugh when she first heard the sound.

She was looking now for Marty. There wasn't a large student body so it was easy to find her. She was sitting with a skinny girl with long brown hair. Rich girl hair, thought Lizzie derisively before she shut that train of thought down. These girls could be her new friends.

“Hi again,” she said nervously, realizing suddenly with a sinking heart that she was so _tired_. Almost too tired to make an effort. She hadn't realized it before really because there had been no new introductions into her life lately. Her time had been spent almost exclusively with her dad and she hadn't felt the need to pretend too much. She could be silent when she wanted to be and as long as she cried in private, he didn't push her to share her thoughts with him.

But these girls were going to need her best efforts and she didn't have the energy.

Well, she'd just have to give it a go.

Marty’s face brightened when she looked up to see Lizzie. “Hey, Liz, come sit down. This is Jessica,” she said, pointing to the other girl.

“Sooo, Marty’s a princess, and you have to curtsy to her before you sit down,” Jessica drawled.

Lizzie looked at them both for a split second uncertainly before both girls burst into laughter. Marty rolled her eyes, playfully slapping her friends arm.

“Stop it, be nice to the new girl,” she chided, still giggling. “Liz, I am technically the granddaughter of the Māori queen but it's not a western style honorific.

She couldn't help it, she shrugged. “Wouldn't matter if it was. I don't know how to curtsy.”

The two girls looked at each other briefly before dissolving into further giggles.

“We like you,” they said in unison.

Well, it had been an exhausting morning and she still felt brittle as old egg shells but at least she had this.

 

* * *

 

 

Her dad wasn't waiting for her at the school gates at the end of the day but their car was. Artie was in the back and two of their security guards were in the front.

“Good day at school then?” Artie inquired awkwardly.

“Yeah, sure,” she responded, still a bit shell shocked at how overwhelming it had been.

She hadn't seen Marty and Jessica again after lunch. They'd been in different classes to her. As nice as the girls were, it had been a bit of a relief when lunch was over. Her dad had given her instructions about his identity - Kenneth Rathers. Her backstory; her dad had a fling when he was younger, he hadn't been aware that he'd produced offspring but her mother had died in a car accident, triggering some instructions in her will on contacting her dad. He'd been shocked and overwhelmed with joy to find that he had a daughter and had brought her to Europe to live with him immediately.

He was involved in banking and was a shareholder of a number of large corporations. All very boring work.  A spiel designed to lose the interest of the average teenage girl and at the same time convey to them that Lizzie’s dad was rich and powerful.

“Lizzie!”

Oh god, he was waiting for her at the door.

She _knew_ he hadn't intended to be at the school gate for her. It wasn't the plan and she'd been okay with that this morning. But right now she wanted to punch him in the face for not being there.

Brushing past him, she tried to head toward the stairs but he pulled her back by her school bag, enveloping her in his arms.

“I know, I _know_ , you don't feel like talking to me right now,” he said authoritatively as she struggled against him. “And I'll let you go in a minute. You can go upstairs and have some time to yourself but I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you're okay.”

She slumped against him. “I'm not okay but I still want to go upstairs,” she said in a small voice.

Tightening his arms around her for a moment, he planted a kiss in her hair, sighing heavily. “Alright, go and have a hot bath. Come down at seven for dinner.”

He let her go and she moved with her head down toward the stairs.

“Go and see Lola. She's been missing you,” he added as she walked away.

Feeling battered and bruised, but without a scratch on her, she slowly climbed the stairs to her bedroom. The bedroom she’d decorated herself. The wallpaper was a heavy cream color with silver-blue stripes running evenly down the walls. Her furniture was mostly cream as well. The nightstand next to her bed held a digital clock and her tote bag. She flopped into her bed, rolling over onto her side to stare at the bag.

Completely out of the blue, she remembered that she hadn't opened Rosa’s gift.

She sprang upright again. Oh, this would be interesting. What could a woman like Rosa want to give her?  

She grabbed her bag, rifling through it for the gift wrapped present, pulling it out and looking down at it. Her fingers played with the twine that was wrapped into a neat ribbon. She pulled gently on one side and it came loose immediately, the paper springing out to reveal a dull red hardcover book with gold lettering etched onto the front.

Rudyard Kipling's _Just So Stories_.

She tossed her head back, confused.

This wasn't anything like what she'd been expecting. Curiously she opened the cover and a small handwritten note fell out.

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_I read this book to Simon when he was a little boy, many times over. He tells me that he would like you to have it as much as I would._

_Dearest girl, I would like you to think kindly of me but I understand why you cannot. What a strange set of circumstances, no?_

_I can certainly understand your feelings now, however I wish for you to know that if you should ever need a friend, I am here._

_Sincerely_

_Rosa_

Her eyes stung as she blinked rapidly, trying to understand what that note was about. It was a nice gesture of course, but the letter was weird. Probably just a cultural thing, she thought as she stood, crossing the room quickly and dropped the book and note at the bottom of her wardrobe, behind the chess board and painting easel her dad had bought her.

  
She'd go downstairs. It had been a long day and she needed cuddles with her kitten.


	20. Chapter 20

Lizzie sat despondently in the school nurse’s office, clutching her home economics textbook. She wasn't sure why she'd brought it along. It wasn't really necessary and she'd most likely just get blood on it.

“I'm sure you won't need stitches, Elizabeth,” the nurse repeated for the millionth time. “The headmistress would still like to kno-”

“I didn't see. For the last time, I didn't see,” she interrupted impatiently. “Is my dad here yet?”

The nurse was still fiddling with the gauze underneath her eye. “Ms Bussinger will be calling him any moment now. I do wish-”

“Thanks,” said Lizzie, pulling her head away in irritation. “I should go and get my homework folder from my locker before I go."

She didn't wait to be told to sit back down. She practically fled the small room.

 

* * *

 

“Sir, it's Miss Elizabeth's school,” said Artie, holding the cell phone out to him.

With a slight frown on his face, he accepted the phone. “Good afternoon, Kenneth Rathers speaking,” he said smoothly.

“Mr Rathers, this is Mary Bussinger, the guidance counselor from St Georges school. It's about your daughter…”

“Is there a problem?” His tone suggested there better not be. He paid a significant amount of money to ensure his daughter was safe and enjoyed her schooling.

“I'm afraid Elizabeth was involved in an altercation in her home economics class today.” The woman hesitated, as if unsure how to proceed. “We are, of course, sincerely apologetic, however, Elizabeth sustained a laceration to her face...we understand that a pair of scissors was used.”

He felt his whole body stiffen with outrage.

“I beg your pardon,” he said dangerously. “Are you telling me that my daughter was attacked today at her school? By another student?”

“I'm so sorry Mr Rathers...the circumstances are unclear...Elizabeth won't tell me who was involved and why. The nurse has her and we don't believe that she will require stitches, however we have a physician on call. Would you like me to arrange for her to attend on Elizabeth?”

“No,” he said grimly. “My head of security will be down to the school shortly to pick her up,” he looked up at Artie as he was speaking, gesturing with his right hand for the man to be on his way. The message was clear. Lizzie was to come home.

He turned his attention back to the unwelcome caller. “I'll have her see my own physician. I suggest you make use of your time by finding out who is responsible for the attack on my daughter.” He ended the call abruptly, his fingers were white with his tight grip on the cell phone.

For a moment, he sat there, alone in the room, too filled with fury to move. But he had never allowed himself too long to luxuriate in strong emotion, and now was no exception.

He flicked the cell phone open, dialing a number. “Doctor Parrilla, I'll be needing your assistance...at the house.”

* * *

 

Artie stood tensely in the doorway of his employer’s private study, looking ready for the worst. He rarely saw that expression on Mr Reddington’s face. The last time he had seen it, there had been a lot of bloodletting. And he wasn't sure _who_ was in trouble but when Mr Reddington caught sight of his daughter’s face, he had a feeling he might want to duck for cover. Better yet, he might like to be out of the room altogether, miles away preferably.

“Sir, she's gone to her bedroom,” he said tentatively, his hand hovering at the door knob. He wanted to get out of there at the first opportunity.

Reddington looked up from his desk. “Thank you Artie. Doctor Parrilla will be here shortly. Please show him up to Elizabeth’s room when he arrives,” he said, standing from his chair and crossing the room purposefully.

Artie had only been about a year in Raymond Reddington’s employ. He usually didn't get involved with his employer's private miseries. He'd had little sympathy for most of them. They'd created their own situations. But this one was different. He thought of her as Lizzie in his head, even though he always referred to her properly as Miss Elizabeth when speaking out loud.

Something didn't seem right. He couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't as if he'd never worked for criminal families before. Because he had. He'd been entrusted with the care of mafia families, trust fund children, even a movie star’s brat before. But it had never been quite like this.

He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. It was time for his periodic check on the perimeter guard.

 

* * *

 

“Lizzie,” his voice came through the door, muffled but still clear enough that her heart squeezed in response. “May I come in?”

“Okay,” she said, hiding her face in his pillow as he quietly slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.

She had run upstairs telling Artie she'd be in her room but her feet had led her to the main bedroom. His bedroom. She could smell him on the pillow that she was now burrowed into.

Laying a hand lightly on her head, he sank down on the bed next to her. “Can you show me, sweetheart,” he asked, compassion thick in his voice.

She kept her head burrowed in the pillow. She didn't want to show him, didn't want to tell him about the girl who had been a bitch to her every day since the start of school.

She felt her shoulders relax a little though as he gently brushed his hand through her hair.

“Please show me,” he asked her again.

She gulped. He'd see eventually. She slowly lifted her head.

His face tightened but his touch was light as a feather, stroking her cheek as he examined the wound. It was mostly hidden behind a dressing but he could see a hint of angry red flesh peeking out just underneath her eye.

It had been a near thing, _very_ close to her left eye.

She sighed. “The principal is coming to visit tonight.”

“And what will we say to her?” His voice was now a silky caress, just a hint of anger behind it. But she knew he wasn't angry at her.

“Tell her I didn't see who it was,” she said woodenly. “Tell her it was an accident.”

The hand that was touching her cheek grasped her chin firmly, forcing her to look at him.

His face was stone carved, his voice tightly controlled. “Lizzie, I'm a criminal. I understand about snitching. Did you think I'd tell her? We’re going to handle this privately if we must but you _are_ going to tell me who did this to you.”

She shivered at his tone. She knew she was safe with him, she had no reason to be afraid but she felt an icy finger claw down her back. Should she be afraid for Nadia Lipvski? The blonde girl had her in her sights from the minute she’d stepped onto the school grounds. She even knew who her father was. It seemed both their fathers had some vague business connection. Lizzie supposed she wasn't the first child of an international criminal to be sent to this exclusive school. Hadn't Dick Cheney’s daughter gone here?

It had been the same old story with most new schools. A period of time where the mean girls sought her out, picked on her, grew bored with her stoic non responses and moved onto something more fun. She usually fit in eventually, finding a group of kids that suited her. The first bit was always hard though. Every time she changed schools she prepared herself mentally for it.

This time was the first time she'd been physically attacked. She hadn't thought that would happen in a place like this one. Full of filthy rich kids with entitlement issues maybe...but not violence.

She had just been ignoring Nadia’s snide comments, busy making an omelet for the teacher to grade. She'd turned around to find the pretty, blonde girl almost under her feet.

“Watch where you're going, stupid American,” she'd snarled, her arm flashing up, an open pair of scissors held in her hand.

She'd been shocked. For a moment, she just stared back at the girl, not even feeling any pain. But then a sharp ache pierced her under her eye, and she felt a small amount of blood slide it's way down her cheek.

It probably looked worse than it was. Nadia’s eyes had widened in horror. She'd dropped the scissors, turning away from Lizzie quickly, obviously terribly afraid she'd be getting into trouble.

Her teacher had asked, so had the nurse and the guidance counselor. Even the principal had a few quiet words with her.

They wanted a name.

They were terrified of losing reputation as a school of excellence.

“I didn't see it,” she'd said sullenly to every one of them, still trembling from the altercation. “Call my dad.”

They _had_ called him eventually. And now here he was, telling her he understood about snitching. How you just couldn't do that if you wanted to fit into the school hierarchy. But at the same time he intended to fix this...he wanted a name too.

She shouldn't give it to him. She could handle this herself.

She shook her head, her eyes sliding away from him. He was sitting so close to her, their thighs were practically brushing each other. His trousers felt nice against her bare leg. Her skirt was up around her lap and she hadn't realized how messy she was, her hair everywhere and her cheeks stiff with dried tears.

“I don't want to talk about it,” she said softly.

“Lizzie, tell me.”

“No,” she said, squirming away from his grip.

He followed her across the bed. “ _Tell me_.”

She choked back a sob. It was hard to displease him, hard to ignore his demands but she felt an inner sense of alarm growing. Would he do something to Nadia? Did a part of her _want_ him to do something horrible to her?

Quite smoothly, as if he were well practiced at turning teenagers over in their beds, he flipped her onto her back, placing his arms on either side of her, looking down at her sternly. “I don't take no for an answer. Never have. _Tell me now_.”

Turning his hard, demanding persona on her had been a shock. She grimaced and gasped as if cold water had been dashed across her face. She looked up at him again, tensing at the hot, angry look in his eyes.

“It was Nadia Lipvski,” she said before she thought any further. “I think her dad is-”

I know who her father is,” he breathed, reaching to push a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “I'll deal with it Lizzie.”

He leaned further over her. “Are you in pain?”

“No.”

Even further, their chests touching now. “Good,” was all he said, remaining over her upper body, hovering just above her.

She twitched, a panicked expression appearing on her face. She gripped his shirt and used it to haul herself up beside him into a sitting position. She was so close to him, he could taste her if he just put his tongue out.

 

* * *

 

Struggling to control his urges, he let himself feel crushing anger instead of...whatever else this was. The Lipvski girl would regret touching his daughter, he'd make sure of it. The only reason her father was a rich man was because of him.

He thought of the fear and violence he would inflict as he cupped her chin in his hand, kissing her forehead.

_Not again, not again_ , he thought as he caught her gently between both hands, tipping her face up to his mouth, his lips moving on her skin, on her lips, seemingly of their own accord. _I mustn't do this, not to my little girl._ His gut churned acid with guilt even as he pulled her into his lap. Her eyes had fluttered closed and she had her arms about his neck.

“Lizzie,” he muttered in a harsh, twisted voice, “I-”

A loud knock at the door interrupted him, jolting him out of his train of thought. He sprang up, pushing her off his lap, “I've called my own physician in to see you.” He moved toward the door, opening it quickly before she had a chance to say anything.

“Mr Reddington, good afternoon,” offered the doctor respectfully. He was an older man, dressed in a plain white button-down shirt, a slim navy tie, dress pants and horn rimmed glasses. He had a pen in his pocket that had just started to leak blue ink down his front.

Red had known Dr Bernardo Parrilla since an incident in Cuba had brought the doctor to his attention. He'd been involved in a political scandal and Red had assisted him and his adult children in fleeing the country. He couldn't afford the fee straight off so he was working through his debt by offering his on call services for the next five years. It wasn't a bad deal, the man was also given private accommodation and a reasonable yearly stipend.

He looked at the doctor distractedly, running a hand over his face. “Bernie, it's not me this time. Just a small thing but I'd still appreciate your opinion.” He turned to indicate to Lizzie, sitting slumped on the bed, staring dolefully at them both.

“What do we have here,” he said heartily, crossing the floor to stand in front of her.

“My daughter,” he explained impatiently, “was attacked with a pair of scissors...at school,” he added, noting the doctors sidelong look, a flash of alarm occurring behind his bespectacled eyes. “Will she need stitches? Will it-” he broke off, unwilling to bring up scarring in front of her.

Fear bloomed in her eyes. It was too late, she'd understood what he'd been about to say.

She craned her neck, letting the doctor examine her. “The school nurse said I didn't need stitches,” she cried, “she said I wouldn't scar.”

“Nor will you,” said the doctor, kneeling in front of her, his finger gently probing her skin. “But I think butterfly enclosures and a tetanus shot are called for.”

He stood again, his knees creaking as he got up from the floor. “I'll need to get supplies from the car. We’ll get the butterfly closures out of the way and then I'll go down to the village pharmacy.”

Red followed him out of the room, pacing in the hallway as he waited for the doctor to return.

She'd need a tetanus shot. And at least it was just butterfly closures. There wouldn't be any scar on her face, thank god.

He squeezed his eyes shut, sagging against a wall. He'd kissed her once more and God help him, he would do it again if she let him. He felt goosebumps on his skin. He was sick, weak, what was wrong with him? What was wrong with her that she didn't think to protest against his actions? She turned to him every time, inviting him.

His stomach was sour, but this was impossible. He couldn't not. It didn't harm her after all, she was so happy to be with him, so at ease even when he touched her in that way.

He paced again. This couldn't go on, there was danger in it. If she realized how unhealthy it was, if someone asked the wrong question, and worst of all, if he got her pregnant, there would be no alternative but to-.

He stopped. A shot. She was getting a tetanus shot. Pregnancy was the worst case scenario, the one thing he couldn't abide the idea of. He'd been incredibly careless when he took her that one time. He'd felt like getting down on his knees in prayer when she’d had her next period.

So. One shot. In the arm. What difference could one more shot make?

“Bernie,” he said in a businesslike manner when the doctor returned. “I'd like her to get the birth control shot as well.”

“Depo Provera?” The older man looked startled. “She's a bit young isn't she?”

“She's fourteen and already sexually active. I want you to do this. You won't tell her either. Do you understand me?”

The doctor looked back at his employer, the large debt between them hanging there in the air, a miasmic cloud of obligation. He nodded slowly. “I'll go down to the village then. I'll be back shortly.”

Well and good.

He returned to the bedroom. Lizzie was lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, her arms pillowing her head. She looked down at him as he entered the room.

“The doctor is going to the village pharmacy for a script. You'll need two shots,” he said smoothly, hiding his churning thoughts from her.

She didn't sense a thing was wrong. She smiled tiredly. “Okay then. But dad...don't do anything to Nadia please. She didn't...I don't think she meant to have the scissors in her hand. I think she just meant to slap me.”

His face darkened. “That in itself is unacceptable. I'll deal with it Lizzie. You needn’t worry.”

He left the room, leaving her to her own devices again, deciding that he'd wait in his study.

And as he sat on the comfortable leather couch, going through a list of his Russian mafia contacts, he felt like he'd struck off heavy chains that had been binding him. He was free to do as he liked, as his impulses and desires bade him. 

He chose not to think about where his desires were coming from.

 


	21. Chapter 21

Gym shorts were awful, uncomfortable things. Lizzie pulled the wedgie out in annoyance as she jogged around the field. They were doing a warmup for Physical Education before playing a game of soccer. She hated it when she had this class in the afternoon. She didn't feel like running around the school’s upper field after a full day of classes. And trying to pull the injury card hadn't worked. She'd given it her best shot that morning.

“I'm sick though,” she'd whined.

“Lizzie, you're not sick. You have a small cut and it's nicely bandaged. You're going to school.”

The silent treatment hadn't worked. Even the tears that welled up in her eyes in the car were fruitless in softening him.

“Why are you taking me to school?” She'd asked curiously. He never took her to school. He was always there in the morning, to have breakfast with her, giving her a kiss on the top of her head and sending her on her way with Artie who would drive her to school in the Range Rover. But he never came with her.

“I have my reasons,” he’d said mysteriously.

That had been this morning. She'd asked her physical education teacher if she could sit out of jogging but that hadn't worked either so here she was, puffing away after her Math class. She was good at Math. She'd rather be there than here.

“I want to be on Sara’s team today,” hissed Marty, jogging up behind her. “She plays soccer outside of school. She's really good. You should ask to be on her team too.”

Lizzie laughed. “I don't think the new girl gets to choose.”

“Oh well, I can ask for you if you like,” she offered.

That was nice. Marty and Jessica had been good friends over the past couple of weeks. Lizzie sat with them most lunchtimes and they were talking about going into the village and down to the lake on the weekend. It was the first outside school thing she'd been invited to and she was looking forward to it.

“See you in a bit then.” Her friend sped away. It was unbelievable how athletic Marty was. She wanted to become a professional soccer player or maybe an Olympic track and field competitor. She was ridiculously good at high jump. But her mother wanted her to be a lawyer and later on a politician back in New Zealand. It was the cause of a lot of bickering on the phone when she called her parents every Friday night.

Lizzie huffed and puffed her way through her second lap around the field. There was a gap between her and the kids in front and behind. Then suddenly there wasn't.

“Elizabeth, are you...alright?” Came Nadia’s unwelcome voice alongside her.

She veered away from the girl. She did _not_ want her anywhere near. “I'm fine,” she said curtly. “No thanks to you.”

“I didn't mean to, you know,” said Nadia, a desperate tinge to her voice. “Listen, if my father finds out...if you tell _your_ father...there might be trouble...for both of us. I...I saw him drop you off at school today. Does he know?”

Lizzie slowed, turning her frown upon Nadia. “My dad made me tell him. I couldn't really explain it away. I had to tell him. But he's not making a complaint at the school and I didn't tell anyone else. So just leave me alone okay?” She sneered and shook her head. “You're the craziest mean girl I've ever come across. What kind of psycho tries to gouge someone's eye out, _in class_?”

Nadia’s skin turned a sickening sheet white. “Please tell me that you didn't say that to your dad? You didn't tell him I was trying to.. _.do that_ , did you?”

Lizzie finally slowed to a complete stop in the middle of the field. “What were you trying to do? I'm not the only American at this school. Or is it just new kids you hate? And don't try and scare me into anything. Nothing's going to happen to _me_ if my dad gets upset. _You_ , I dunno.”

Sporting a mottled shade of red now, Nadia made a reflexive gesture, a beseeching look on her face. “ _Please_ , tell your dad it was an accident,” her voice lowered. “Look, our dads know each other, it could cause problems, you see?”

Problems. Sure for Nadia’s dad maybe. She suddenly realized just how much of an impact her dad made in...certain circles. And her mind threw itself back to Simon’s story about the Camorra. It gave her a shameful rush of pleasure. Her dad was powerful and scary and he'd do anything for _her_.

She gave Nadia a thoughtful look. “I've already told him it was an accident. And he's still pretty mad. I can talk to him again but you can quit trying to make my life hard. I don't like you and you don't like me. So just stay away from me, yeah?”

The blonde girl nodded fiercely. The shrill sound of a whistle split the air, grabbing the attention of both girls. They looked toward the sound. Ms Jorgensen was pointing to them from across the field, her gestures were sharp and angry. Too far away to hear her, they both still understood the message. They fell into line again, jogging silently side by side.

 

* * *

 

They had a housekeeper. She came in to do daily cleaning and cook dinner for them. Her dad had handed her a sheaf of resumes before they'd moved in and told her to pick one. It included names, ages and previous employment. And a photo.

She'd picked the plainest applicant on the list. Her name was Bojana. A Yugoslavian middle aged woman with mousy thinning hair and a permanent frown. She spoke a little English. Enough for them to understand each other. And she made the best food, all authentic Yugoslav dishes. They were both very happy with her. She lived by herself down in the village and was only with them a few hours a day which suited them both fine. Apparently she'd worked as a housekeeper for a colleague of his in Zurich so he trusted the woman in his house when she was alone or with Lizzie.

Bojana had cooked their meal that evening and left them as she usually did.

“Dad,” she said at the dinner table, chomping down on the bell peppers stuffed with spiced mince meat, “how did you know who Nadia was?”

He slowly finished his own mouthful of food before answering. “Her father is Chief of Staff to the Russian minister of Defense. He's well known in political circles.”

“And criminal ones?” She prompted before she thought.

Her dad dropped his fork beside his plate forcefully. She jumped. He had a cold, hard look on his face and it frightened her.

“Lizzie, it is vitally important that you do _not_ run about your school or anywhere else for that matter with your suppositions, _do I make myself clear_?”

Her chin trembled. Sam never yelled at her. Why was he so angry? She'd done awful things before, had been so rude to him and he was endlessly patient. She asked one innocent question and now the sky was falling in.

She stood on shaky legs. “I'm not hungry,” she choked out in a whisper, fleeing the dining room.

“Lizzie, Lizzie! Come back, I didn't-”

His voice faded as she took the stairs two at a time, hurtling down the corridor and into her room. She locked the door behind her, feeling for the first time since her first day with him, a little afraid.

She sank onto her bed, her hands between her knees, shoulders hunched, trying to process what had just happened. He evaded many of her questions and she was getting used to that now. It no longer frustrated her like it once had. But _this_. He'd never yelled at her like this. Was it because it was to do with his work?

Was he feeling...weird about yesterday? She shook her head as if she could physically dispel the thought of his arms around her waist and his tongue in her mouth. She hadn't thought of what they'd done at all really. Until yesterday. It had been a weird blip and her mind just hadn't gone there, unwilling to touch on it again, like a sore spot you automatically learn to pass over.

It wasn't a sore spot though. Not really. It had felt good. But he hadn't come to her again and she realised that a worrying concern had been growing unconsciously on her. He'd stopped short yesterday when the doctor had arrived but he'd been about to say something to her. What was he going to say?

What if it been her fault? What if he hadn't wanted to do it, was disgusted with her. What if he didn't really want her as his daughter anymore. Only he was in an impossible position. Sam had offloaded her and didn't want her. She was his responsibility now and he couldn't give her back.

He was only in his thirties. What if he wanted to find someone and settle down with a new family? New kids that he wouldn't be separated from. Kids that wouldn't come onto him and do disgusting things.

She closed her eyes, silent tears dripping steadily down her face. She sat for the longest time on the edge of her bed, staring at the painting on the wall that he'd chosen for her. It was a beautiful pink and gold sunrise scene, set in the mountains. She loved that painting.

The house was old and creaked as people moved about. It was impossible to move silently so she heard him coming up the stairs slowly after a while. He'd probably finished his dinner. Usually he went to his study on the ground floor after dinner. She supposed he was coming to talk to her.

Rushing to the door, she managed to have it unlocked before he arrived on the landing. She didn't want to make him angry. She sat back on her bed, waiting tensely to see if he'd come in.

He knocked.

“Lizzie, may I come in,” he said in a calm voice.

His tone dispelled some of her fear. “It's not locked,” she called out.

The doorknob turned and and he entered the room slowly, closing the door and leaning against it, giving her a searching look.

“Normally I'd be unhappy with you leaving the dinner table like that but I realize that perhaps I over reacted.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I know you're a smart girl but you are not a part of the world in which I live. And you don't see the pitfalls that loom in front of you. _I_ see them, precious girl and it alarms me. My only objective is to keep you safe.”

She blinked rapidly, listening to his speech. But it wasn't entirely fair. “You brought me here to be a part of the world that you live in. Unless you plan on putting me into a boarding school and just never seeing me again, I'm going to be a part of your world. So like, how am I supposed to know what's dangerous to talk about? You keep so many secrets from me.”

His lips thinned. “You need to learn to trust my guidance. Can you do that? If I promise never to yell again will you do as I ask, follow my orders without arguing even a little bit?”

She nodded eagerly.

“There are things I still can't tell you, for your own safety. If I promise you, I need you to promise to trust me. Don't ask questions that you don't really need the answers to.”

She slumped a little. Well it was better than nothing. At least he wasn't disgusted with her about...that.

He smiled warmly. “Come here, baby,” he stretched his arms out and she flew into them gratefully.

It was weird, how readily she agreed to anything he asked now when only a little over a month ago she'd been so confident in herself and would argue with Sam for hours without any fear of losing his love or respect.

It was just because he was her real dad, she guessed. He must love her more. That's why it felt more intense. She had more to lose.

 


	22. Chapter 22

“Dad?” Lizzie's soft voice drew his attention from the television.

It was late. She was supposed to have done her homework but she'd been playing with Lola after dinner. He'd been unimpressed with her forgetfulness and had just instructed her not even twenty minutes ago to get at least some of it done before bed.

He reached for the remote, turning the sound down slightly. “Yes?” He asked.

“Part of my social studies homework is to pick a current affair topic and lead a five minute discussion on it tomorrow in class.” She wandered further into the room, her eyes drifting around the den.

This was his sanctuary and she'd instinctively picked that up without him having to say a thing. She had only been as far as the door a handful of times and she'd never gone wandering in by herself.

It was decorated exactly to his taste. Wood panelled walls, bottle green leather armchairs and a comfortable two seater couch on which he found himself stretched out now. He was watching the late news carefully as was his usual habit.

“Come,” he said, gesturing for her to sit with him, placing his tumbler of scotch onto the coffee table in front of him. She didn't hesitate but instead of sitting in the spot next to him, she sat in his lap, curling her legs over his and lying back on him as though he were an armchair.

He felt his eyelids flicker, his forehead wrinkled in momentary surprise. She shifted on him, wiggling around as though she were searching for his softest spots to relax into. Her head fell back and she rested her neck on his shoulder.

Breathing suddenly became a little more difficult and it had nothing to do with her weight on top of him. He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to steady himself as a rush of affection for her surged through his chest. She was everything he dreamed she'd be and more.

“What are we watching?”

He stiffened. She'd turned her head to speak to him and her lips had moved against his throat as she spoke. His stomach curled in on itself. If he couldn't exchange innocent intimacies with his daughter then there was something wrong with him. Was there something wrong with him?

He forced the unworthy thought to the back of his mind. He kept her safe. She felt loved and wanted. She had the best of everything. And a father who would walk across hot coals for her.

There was nothing wrong.

“The news,” he said, keeping his voice mild. “There isn't anything of much interest at this time although I'll admit to mild amusement at Bill getting caught out with the intern,” he chuckled. “We have a mutual friend and said _friend_ has been telling him for years to be more selective with his affairs. But will the man listen? No, he won't.”

“Hmm, so you're like...practically buddies with President Clinton then?”

“Of course not. Building an empire like mine is about staying to the shadows. If you have too many high profile friends, you're pinned down. Look to the faceless men if you want to see the real power and wealth behind any throne.” He stopped, considering the wisdom of educating his teenage daughter on how the world _really_ worked. He wanted her to remain innocent for a little longer. “Have you done your homework?” He asked, changing the subject without his usual grace.

She wriggled again. “I'm doing it now remember?”

“Oh yes, current affairs.” He snorted. “As much as I'd pay good money to see you stand up in class and talk about Bill Clinton’s depressing sex life, I'd prefer it if you weren't expelled, so let's choose another news item shall we? How abou-”

He was easily and shockingly silenced by her lips. She had simply turned her head to the left and pressed her lips to his.

He dissolved.

How could she be soft and welcoming and so innocent all at once?

For the longest time, for what felt like hours, he played with her, his tongue darting into her mouth, curling around her own tongue, sucking on her bottom lip, licking the tip of her nose. He could barely breathe, he was so taken with her, he could kiss her forever. She had beautiful eye lashes, sweet skin with a powdering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Kissable lips that eagerly sought his.

Running his hands down her arms, he smirked to himself as she let out a low moan and pushed herself back against him.

Slowly, he slid one hand across her belly and used the other to flick open the top button of her denim shorts. The zipper came down easily and she was exposed to him. She hadn't been wearing any panties.

He knew well by now that she'd let him, she wouldn't say a thing. She had sought _him_ out.

His hand inched further down her belly and still she was silent, their steady breathing and the background drone of the French anchorman on the television, the only sounds in the quiet night.

He hummed, enjoying her shiver as the vibrations in his throat traveled from his lips resting against her temple, throughout the rest of her body.

Her breath hitched as his fingers moved down over her. He found himself pausing, his hand cupped between her legs. They didn't move for the longest time, the two of them just sitting there motionless, as he cradled her against himself. It was quite a tableau.

Then a finger, just a finger, pressed down into her folds. She twitched, _god_ the way she moved when he touched her. He breathed her in, the scent of her skin, her hair, it was a sensory buffet.

“Do you want to go to bed,” she breathed, jolting him out of his trance.

He knew what she was asking, his darling girl in her shy manner. But he couldn't. Not yet. He'd give her something sweet tonight until he could.

“Not tonight, precious girl. But…” He trailed off, pushing another finger into her folds, sliding his hand along her slickness. She was so _ready_ , so pleasantly warm. How could he stop before he went too far when she was bucking her hips onto his hand, making little noises at the back of her throat, _begging_ him for more. She made it so hard to stop but he must.

Swallowing hard, he pressed an index finger against her clit, groaning in sync with her as she cried out. He rubbed through her folds, back and forth, circling her sweet spot as she shuddered under his hand. He held her down now, one hand firmly pressed against her hip, otherwise she'd be practically hovering in the air, she was writhing so desperately.

“Please,” she whimpered.

“I know darling, I know. Hold on...just...a...little…lon-”

“Ahh,” she cried out from deep in her throat, an urgent sound. “Aahh ahh”. She was sweating, her forehead beading with salty moisture. His lips were still fastened to her temple. He could taste her, he _wanted_ to taste her, all of her.

He increased his pace, redoubling his efforts on that sensitive little bundle at her core.

Throwing her head back, crashing painfully into his chin, she yelped, high and loud as she came, gasping and squirming in his hand. Her shuddering stilled and she went limp against him, her head rolling sideways into the crook of his neck.

This would do for tonight. This would be sufficient. He knew now that his ‘just in case’ with the birth control had never been ‘just in case’. It was only a matter of time. He wanted her so badly, it felt like a bodily craving. He could wait one week but no more than that.

 

* * *

 

Lizzie sat patiently a week later on the bed in her room. She had gone out earlier with Marty and Jessica to hang out on the lake and she'd been told to be back before dinner. Her dad wanted the doctor to examine her cut.

The doctor was fussing over her now, squeezing a tube of some cream directly onto the almost healed wound.

“You'll be fine,” he said reassuringly, spreading the cream delicately under her eye. “It's healing very well. There's hardly a mark left already. No chance of a scar.”

She could see her dad leaning against the wall, his arms folded, watching the whole process as though he were guarding her.

Maybe he was. He had been different since the other night. More protective of her. If that were even possible. He'd started coming with her in the car to school, and his hands never seemed to be far from her. He kissed her every night, cuddling her to him, starting at the nape of her neck and working his way down her body til she twisted in the sheets, crying out for him.

He seemed to want it to be left at that. It was easier not to think about it until it happened again. Because it always felt so right when it was happening.

It was only afterwards that she became confused and uncertain. She wished that she understood it better. What was happening? Was it her doing this? She rejected the thought of asking him each time it entered her head. If she gave a voice to what they were doing, what if she brought it all crashing down around her? What if she misunderstood what was happening? She just couldn't say anything.

Sometimes she really missed Sam. It felt like a physical emptiness inside of her. But she had her dad.

The doctor straightened up, turning towards her dad. “All finished,” he said. “I'll leave a tube of this with you. Keep applying it before bed and she'll be as good as new.”

“Thank you doctor,” her dad said gravely, reaching for the cream. “You've been very helpful. I hope you're enjoying your stay here? I notice your children haven't been to visit yet. If there are any issues with money…” He trailed off delicately.

“Oh! Oh no, my daughter Maria has only recently had a child, you understand. She's unable to travel. And my son tends to wander a bit. Rarely comes to visit his old papa.” Doctor Parrilla smiled at him, clearly glad to be talking of his children.

Her dad nodded sagely, flicking a glance at her. “If you need some leave, you have only to ask of course. Your first grandchild, am I correct?” He said, opening the door and politely following the doctor out.

She listened as their voices and footsteps faded down the hall.

“Yes, a little girl. My daughter wanted a boy but her husband is over the moon with his little princess and…”

Silently she sat, alone in her room, her arms folded round Lola who had jumped on the bed as soon as it was just the two of them again. She felt a sudden urge to read a book before dinner. Picking Lola up, ignoring her indignant meow, she crossed the room and opened her wardrobe door with one hand, leaning over to grasp at the book Rosa had gifted her.

She wasn't sure why she had chosen this book. It wasn't like they didn't have a library. Her dad had ordered every book she could think of and plenty she hadn't. But she wanted this one right now.

Padding back to her bed, she lay herself back on the pillow and pulled Lola up to rest on her chest. The kitten was quietly satisfied with this arrangement, earnestly licking her chin with her tiny tongue.

She read the note again. The one from Rosa. And then she began to read her book.

 

* * *

 

“Lizzie, Lizzie sweetheart.”

She blinked. What? What was it?

Oh.

“What time is it?” She asked groggily, sitting up from her bed. Lola had moved from her chest and was sitting on her stomach, giving her dad an intense stare as he hovered above her.

“Well past dinner time. You slept right through. I didn't want to wake you...you were burning the midnight oil last night and you had a big day today. I thought you might need it.”

Burning the midnight oil. That was one word for it. Her stomach clenched at the thought of her struggle last night with her French homework. She'd stayed up til some crazy hour of the morning trying to understand the work given to her. She couldn't help but be anxious about it. Languages were difficult for her but seemed to come so naturally to her dad. It made her feel small and stupid, especially when he was so sure she'd be wonderful at everything.

“I'm not really very hungry to be honest. We had a huge lunch on Jessica's dad’s boat,” she said, absently stroking her little grey kitten who was now walking back and forth across her lap as if to remind her she was still there.

He smiled in understanding. “Alright, you should have a shower though. You smell like lake water,” he teased.

“Mm, maybe I'll have a bath,” she said agreeably. “What do you think, Lola?” She picked her kitten up, carefully popping her onto her chest again. “Should I have a bath?” She grinned at her dad as the kitten wriggled around. “Lola says yes to a bath for me but not so much for her.”

He laughed. “Lola is a quick study in English. She's picked it up remarkably fast. You could teach her French next, I suppose.”

Lizzie's eyes widened. She'd meant to practice a few sentences on her father as soon as she got home but she'd forgotten. “Je vais prendre un bain maintenant’” she said slowly.

His eyebrows shot up in pleased surprise. “Oui, je vais te faire couler un bain.”

“Yes,” she translated, a furrowed look of concentration on her brow, “I will...bathe you?” She blinked. “You want to have a bath with me?” She asked shyly.

“No, no,” he stuttered. “I will _run_ you a bath, that's what I said.”

“Oh.” She swallowed, feeling her face growing hot. That was an embarrassing mistake to have made.

Quite suddenly, her embarrassment fled, to be replaced with trepidation. His entire demeanor had transformed from indulgent father to...something else.

He leaned over her, picking her kitten up from her chest and placing it gently on the floor, never letting go of intense eye contact with her all the while. She barely noticed as Lola happily scampered away to her basket in the corner of the room. His eyes were arresting.

He sat on the side of her bed and placed a palm in the middle of her chest, leaving it there lightly, hardly any pressure at all. So still, so patient and serene, just looking at her.

Then his hand moved gently and slowly across her chest, taking his time exploring her.

Her eyes were popped wide. So many _feelings_. He was in control of everything in her life even down to this. Especially down to this.

What was this?

She didn't care.

“Lizzie,” he said thickly, “I'm going to draw you a bath. Could you please strip down, take your dirty clothes off and put them in the hamper, tidily...and meet me in the bathroom. Will you do that, precious girl?"

She nodded, her eyes still wide.

He rose sinuously from the bed and padded out of the room, not looking back at her at all.

For just a moment she lay frozen, lying where he'd left her, then she felt herself scramble up, her limbs all shaky with the anticipation of what was to come. She had no idea. This didn't sound like anything she had a frame of reference for.

Despite what she'd agreed, her clothes were flung every which way as she nervously undressed. She drew a hand over the cut under her eye. It was barely there anymore but she still felt its presence self consciously.

Timidly, she made her way down the hall, completely in the nude and sidled into the bathroom where she found him bent over the bathtub, his fingers in the running water checking the temperature. He turned to smile reassuringly at her.

“Aren't you a good girl,” he breathed, staring at her, marveling at her whole body. It was such an intense gaze, her chin dropped to her chest, her eyes darting away from his. She couldn't look at him when he was looking at her like that.

Gesturing her further into the bathroom, he turned to switch the faucet off and moved to sit on a stool at the top end of the bathtub, picking up a fluffy white washcloth and a bar of lavender soap. He dipped the cloth into the water, wetting the corners and sudsing up the cloth.

“Hop in,” he said quietly.

Wasn't that strange. All of a sudden she felt intense body shyness. She wanted to cover her breasts and the curl of hair between her legs with her hands. She hunched her shoulders and swung a leg over the side of the tub, sinking down into the water as quickly as she could.

She was relieved to find he'd put some sort of sweet smelling agent into the water and it had turned it an opaque, milky white.

“What is this?”

He brushed her hair aside gently and splashed a little warm water over her bare back. “It's a soy milk bath powder, with a dash of ground oats and avocado oil. It's heavenly,” he said, sniffing appreciatively.

“It's nice,” she said absently, relaxing and closing her eyes as he poured a small stream of warm water over her head.

“It's not quite like bathing in actual milk but close enough, don't you think?” He hummed to himself for a moment. “You know, I used to know a woman who would bathe in soured asses milk, _just_ like Cleopatra. The third wife of a Saudi oil baron. She said it was all about the conversion to lactic acid, it was like a chemical peel, all natural of course. And you know,” he said, barely pausing for breath in his ridiculous story, “she did have _scintillating_ skin. I'd run my hands over it and it was smooth as finely spun silk.”

He looked down at her and met a pair of glaring blue eyes looking back up at him.

He laughed, bending to kiss her wet forehead. “Normally I'd find jealousy to be common...but on you,” he whispered into her hair, “...it's enchanting.”

“I'm not jealous,” she mumbled, sounding unconvincing, even to her own ears.

“You've no need to be,” he responded, his lips still in her hair. “Lie back a bit, sweetheart, I'm going to shampoo your hair.”

His hands were firm, sending tendrils of deliciousness down her spine. He shampooed, rinsed and massaged her shoulders slowly til she almost felt as though she were asleep. She was cocooned in his touch, in the warm, sweet smelling water.

“Dad,” she said dreamily.

“Hmm?”

“Can I still learn to ride a horse?”

He paused, his hands midway down her collarbone. “Yes, of course,” he said silkily, his fingers sliding lower down her chest til he was massaging her breasts.

Her head lolled back, allowing him greater access and he slowly rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. They hardened almost painfully.

She arched into his hands, gasping as sensation shot straight through her to her centre.

“Do you want more?” He asked huskily.

“Yes,” she breathed softly with no hesitation.

Giving one nipple a light pinch, he stood up and reached for a towel. “Let's get you into bed,” was all he said but his words held so much more.

Wondering and nervous, with a fluttery feeling in her belly, she hauled herself up, fountaining water off of her. He held his arms out to steady her as she stepped from the tub and she fell right into his arms, heedless of his nice shirt and pants. He was instantly wet all along his front but he didn't seem to care.

He towel dried her, gently rubbing her down in the huge bath towel. She was enveloped in the towel for a moment as he dried her hair and all she could smell was him, all she could feel was his body, pressed against hers.

“Come to bed,” he said, gently leading her out of the bathroom after he had replaced the towel on the rack. She blinked at him, adjusting to the light again and followed him into the bedroom.

“You're not even a little bit hungry?” He asked.

Shaking her head, she clambered onto the bed. “We ate so much on the boat and it was a late lunch.” She glanced over at him as he undressed, placing his clothes neatly into his own hamper. “And I'm kinda tired.”

With a concerned look at her, he joined her in bed. “Lights out then?” He asked softly.

She couldn't speak. They had been here before but never talked of it. It wasn't the same though. Last time...last time he had a towel around him. She hadn't _seen_ him properly like he was in front of her now. Naked and hard.

He had joined her most nights in this bed and he had...cuddled her intimately but he'd always been clothed in his pajamas. He'd never come to bed naked like he was now.

She shouldn't be so disconcerted, she knew what was happening. It had already happened anyway. And she wasn't a fool. He had guided her to bed without a stitch on herself, still slightly damp but even though they had done this before and even though she was nude before him, it was still a shocking thing now to see him like this in the light of their bedside lamps.

Unsure what to do or say, she stared back at him, her eyes wide, breath stolen from her lungs.

“Lizzie?” He prompted, his expression growing more concerned. “If you want to go to sleep, that's....”

“I want...you,” she croaked.

He smiled, leaning into her. “Close your eyes then.”

Obedient to him, she closed them. She felt him up against her, his hot skin rubbing against her damp breasts. He rubbed himself along her small frame as she lay back against the pillows.

His breathing rasped in her ear, a desperate panting, louder for the loss of her sight. He nipped at an earlobe, encouraging the tiny moan that escaped her throat. Arching into him, her own breath started to become more and more shallow. She turned her head to him, opening her eyes again, they were so blurred, she could barely see him. But he was practiced at this, he knew what he was doing, sealing his lips on hers, his tongue exploring her mouth. Light touches, licking and sucking and he was so  _hot_ , how was he this hot and not burning up? Hot to touch, hot in her mouth, on her lips. He was everywhere.

Her brain buzzed with white noise. Not a single coherent thought was able to be formed. Just the blur of her arousal and a low hum of confusion in the back of her mind that she wanted dreadfully to disappear. Her thoughts began to race, chaotic and splintered as she felt him settle over her.

He was so strong, the defined muscles in his arms flexing under her fingers. He wasn't moving, just letting her feel him, his heavy body over her, his penis lying hard between her legs.

He shifted, flattening himself along her, fitting himself to her curves and reached a hand down between them to guide himself. She felt him again at her entrance

“I love you, sweetheart,” he groaned as he sank himself into her so deeply that she couldn't help her cry in response.

“Put your arms around me,” he directed. “Close your eyes baby.”

And right before she closed her own eyes, she saw that he had closed his, a beatific half smile on his face, his sandy eyelashes fluttering slightly as he moved inside of her.

He was so gentle. He held her to him as though he were rocking her to sleep, hands stroking, caressing. She had imagined before any of this that sex was frantic, labored, exciting like in the movies but this once again was slow and sensual, like a long hug. Each time now he had been so tender, it had surprised her.

She slipped and slid against him as he stopped moving, shuddering with his climax. Her body still felt a little wet and soapy. Was she trembling because she was wet and a little cold? She wasn't sure.

“You're a good girl,” he whispered into her ear.

A flush of pleasure suffused her cheeks.


	23. Chapter 23

The room lightened gradually. The various items in the room slowly taking shape as the sun rose outside. It was quite early still. He'd become used to routine since Lizzie had started school. Five hours of sleep was generally all he needed but he liked Lizzie to get more than that so he would often get eight or so to ensure she had the same.

He turned his head to look at her, couched in the softest pillows, her hair haloed around her face. She looked so young when she slept.

He felt...he didn't know what he felt.

It was as if his heart was stopped in his chest, as if time wasn't moving for either of them and it was extraordinarily painful but he couldn't give it up. He wouldn't give her up.

He should be frightened of his uncharacteristic lack of control. He should be concerned that he felt as though his will was no longer his own but he didn't truly feel any promptings other than the one that urged him on to have her and own her completely. This dark and sick compulsion seemed like a separate entity from himself. An enemy that had taken residence in his mind and was demanding that this perversion be satisfied.

He watched her hungrily as she wakened, stretching herself out with an endearing squeak, arms high above her head, an expression of bliss on her face that soothed his concern about how well she was coping. It was an expression that started his heart beating again.

All these years, he'd been living with a wound in his chest that wouldn't heal, an emptiness that made him at times harsher than he meant to be in his dealings. The loss of his little girl had been a punishment that had shaped him over the past decade. Knowing she was safe and so close, that all he had to do was stretch his hand out and he'd have her again had been an exquisite torture, a rod for his own back.

He had thought he couldn't be happier to have her back, thought that there was no love greater than the one he felt for her. He would destroy anyone, friend or foe, who could hurt her or take her from him. He had thought his heart was full until now. Only now, he was discovering how much more he could have.

_This isn't wrong, can't be wrong_ , he thought muzzily as he trailed a string of kisses across her ribs.

He looked up, his eyes catching hers. “You're awake,” he said softly, just for something to start with.

Her hands reached for his face, cool fingers lightly tracing the outline of his lips. She didn't respond to him, just smiled shyly.

He inhaled slowly, expelling his breath again in a stream of air through his nostrils.

“Lizzie, we need to talk.”

Sleepy relaxedness fell away from her face so suddenly that he felt an almost physical stab of alarm. She gripped the back of his neck with both hands, pulling him toward her, her eyes peeled wide, her mouth trembling. “I don't want to talk,” she choked out. “Please don't do what I think you're going to do.”

He blinked. “Would you mind telling me what it is that you think I'm going to do?”

There was a starkness to her features that made him want to scoop her up and hold her close to him. She looked so unhappy but she had no reason to be. He'd make sure of it.

“I don't want you to go away,” she blurted out in a panic, “please don't leave me.”

He felt a lump rise in his throat. He never wanted her to feel as though he would abandon her but with an awful heaving of guilt, he realized it was his actions that had caused her to feel this way. Oh, not the new found physicality of their relationship, but his orchestration of the argument with Sam. He wished now that he'd found another way to do it.

Well, too late. It was a mistake to dwell on decisions that had already been made. Once done, in his line of work, to go back, to self doubt could spell death. He'd committed to this path, he'd taken her down it. He needed to make her understand too, that he was all in. He wouldn't feel remorse and was determined that she shouldn't either.

“We’ve come to a crossroads, Lizzie,” he said carefully. “One I'd like you to think a while on before you make a choice. I nee-”

Please don't go, please, please, please,” she begged in a low voice, her eyes squeezed shut and her fingers still laced around his neck.

“Lizzie, shhh,” he said sternly. Her eyes fluttered open at his tone, tears clinging to her eyelashes. He gentled his voice, “you know...there’s a French fairy tale, written in verse actually. It's called _Peau d'Âne.”_ He licked his lips, waiting to see if she had anything to add. She didn't. She looked back at him, her eyes luminous and so earnest in her dear little face. “I can't help but think of it. There are quite a few variations you see,” he said, stroking her soft hair, fascinated with the dusting of freckles across her nose. He smiled wryly, thinking of the Scottish version of the tale. “It's also known as _The King Who Wished to Marry His Daughter,_ or _Donkeyskin_ or even _Catskin_. A rather macabre tale depending on the version. These things generally are. But this...it's nothing new, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about. It's been around for thousands of years before us and will be for thousands of years after. There are many tales in history, in literature about this. I want for you to be happy...and to be sure of how much I love you. It's the only important thing, the only thing that matters.”

Unsure if she was listening properly, he bent his head to nudge her cheek. She looked up at him, curiosity shining from her eyes.

“What's nothing new?” She asked, “what we’ve...done?”

“Mmhmm, since ancient times. You've got practically the whole pantheon of Greek and Norse mythology to look to there. I've never cared for the trappings and the contract that society offers. I'm not going to wring my hands over this if you aren't.” He lidded his eyes at her, allowing a hand to drift across her bare stomach. “You need to look at the bigger picture here. You know I love you. Do I make you feel good?” He stopped, waiting for her response.

“ _The King Who Wished to Marry His Daughter,”_ she mused as if she weren't fully listening, but she relaxed into his hand as he fondled her breasts. “And did he?”

He paused. “Did he what?”

“Marry his daughter.”

Raymond laughed, seizing her by her middle and planting an enthusiastic kiss on her lips. “Not quite. You see,” he said, grinning, “she was playing hard to get.” He tickled her til her giggles rang to the rafters and it was so easy, so natural, as if they had choreographed it. Her legs fell open and his hips lifted, he pushed and she twisted just so and he was inside of her again. The way they moved together, he had no words for it. Different from every other lover he'd had, he felt no urgency, no desperate rutting or need to scratch an itch, only a glorious sense of peace, like he'd come home.

He would make it so that she would never want anyone else, he thought, his lips finding hers as he gently rocked inside of her. He would fill her days with so much love.

He could make her happy. As happy as she made him.

* * *

 

The vague hum of the gardeners ride on mower rumbled in the background in the garden outside as Lizzie walked naked from her dad’s room to the ensuite bathroom attached to her own. She turned the silver chrome coated hot water faucet on in the shower.

She examined her reflection in the mirror critically as she waited for the water to heat. Her thoughts wandered. He was taking her to Eurodisney in Paris next weekend. The original Disneyland would have to wait for school holidays but she didn't mind. Her dad said she could take one friend. She'd chosen Marty.

Steam started to waft through the room but she didn't step into the shower straight away, angling her chin in from of the mirror. Her stomach tightened. She had a cluster of zits on her chin. It was disgusting. Anxiety gripped her, snaking its way through her mind. Was she pretty enough? Zits made her face look so gross. She halfheartedly squeezed the biggest one, knowing that it wouldn't make a difference. She'd still have those awful, unattractive red marks on her.

With one last scowl at her reflection, she gave up and turned to walk into the shower, sighing as the scalding hot water rained onto her skin.

It was hot. Really hot.

She stood there, her head bowed, water sheeting over her. She was going to go on so many rides next week, she'd eat cotton candy and popcorn and she wanted a new mini backpack. There would be heaps of time to shop.

It was kind of unbelievable. She had everything she wanted.

And he _loved_ her so much.

She reached for a bottle of her apple scented shampoo but her arm fell to her side and she turned her body to the wall. Her limbs trembled, boneless and gelatine, suddenly they weren't limbs at all, only numb and nerveless appendages.

She stiffened her knees and sagged against the shower wall. The tiles were still cool despite the hot water and the steam that enveloped her.

A wave of throat crushing sadness surged over her head, splashing over her and drowning her. She leaned her forehead onto a white tile and let the tears that had been damming up behind her eyes flood her.

She felt something break in her chest and she wept, deep shuddering tears that came from somewhere she wasn't even aware of.

It was a release, but not a relief. It seemed as though she would never be free of this insidious pain that was now permeating every part of her down to her fingertips. Why was she sad? It didn't make sense. She didn't even miss Sam anymore. She had a real dad and he _loved_ her so _hard_.

So many times she'd gone to him with her problems, her issues at school, even her sadness at being abandoned by Sam and he'd made it okay, he was a problem solver and if he couldn't make it better he would hold her close to him and just make it okay with his presence.

How ungrateful to go to him now when nothing was wrong. She was so lucky that he wanted her. She'd never been wanted and desired so fiercely by anyone and she was _crying_ as though she wasn't happy.

She sniveled, pulling the rest of her tears back into her aching head. She had to _stop._

Taking a large lungful of steam, she reached again for her shampoo. Everything was gonna be alright.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	24. Chapter 24

Lizzie sat in the middle of her bed with a book in her lap and a certain small, grey and remarkably overprotective feline lying wrapped around her shoulders like a fur stole. She was waiting for her dad to finish getting ready for the symphony orchestra in Lausanne. There was a French bistro he was taking her to in the very same resort town beforehand.

“Lizzie, sweetheart,” he called from out in the hall.

She closed her book and unfolded her legs from under her, smoothing down her purple dress. “Okay, Lola,” she whispered, reaching around her neck to dislodge her cat.

Her poor baby mewled in protest, giving her a reproachful look.

She giggled, petting Lola’s fluffy head, letting her stalk indignantly off of the bed. Oh well. She was a needy cat. Only Lizzie was allowed to feed her or pet her or groom her. She'd hiss if anyone else stretched a hand out.

Including her dad.

It was kinda nice, being the center of the little kitten’s world.

“I'm ready,” she called out, “just a sec.” She jumped off the bed and made her way to the door, reaching it just as her dad opened it.

“Wow! Don't you look adorable,” he said with genuine warmth, and a little bit of a teasing sparkle in his eyes.

She flushed. Sam had never been good at compliments. He'd tell her she was a good kid and that any guy would be lucky to have her when she grew up - not that anyone was good enough for her. That's what Sam had said.

But Sam had never told her she was adorable, or pretty. He was gruff and not so great with emotions. And in the end he hadn't been great with deeds either. He'd left her.

Well, she had Raymond now. He was almost a Prince Charming with his golden hair and glinting eyes. The way he looked at her sometimes, when she saw that look on his face, her chest would get all twisted up and fluttery.

He smiled slyly. “I've got something for you,” he reached into his pocket, pulling out a long, black leather case and opened it with a flourish. “Here, diamonds don't shine half as much as you do Lizzie, but this is a little something to wear anyway.”

Wow.

A bracelet of diamonds sat draped across the velvet lining of the case. Huge, glittering gems.

“Thanks,” she said unsteadily, glancing at the amber bracelet that she had around her wrist. “Can I wear it another time though?”

With a slight frown, he closed the case, taking in her uncomfortable posture in front of him.

“I mean it's so beautiful, thank you,” she added quickly. “But this,” she grabbed at the amber beads at her wrist, “this is the first jewelry you ever bought me. It's special,” she said softly.

The frown didn't leave his face. She started to feel a little anxious.

“Well, that's sweet...I suppose, but that shade of yellow doesn't really match the fuchsia tone of your dress.”

“Oh okay,” she said vaguely, slowly slipping off her bracelet and dropping it into her jewelry box on the dresser next to her bedroom door. She held her wrist out and let him do up the clasp on the diamond bracelet.

It _was_ pretty.

He flashed her a brilliant smile. “There we are. All ready. Aren't we a handsome pair,” he said, holding out his arm for her to take as they made their way down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

In public, he was still so affectionate, but there was an emotional distance that he didn't have with her in private. His smile was warm but lacked the sensuality he could display when he would spread her out in bed and tickle her til she begged him to stop.

She understood a little.

Whatever they had, as long as they didn't talk about it out loud, it was okay. As long as they didn't invite someone else's questions or confidences, it was okay.

Maybe that was why she was finding it harder than usual to make friends. She liked Marty and Jessica and she spent time with them outside of school, but there was a reserve there that had never been around whenever she'd start a new school.

She knew she was being aloof but couldn't help it.

She scanned the high ceilinged room now, her boredom barely contained as she tapped her foot and waited for her dad to finish talking to whoever he was with. It looked like someone's dad. Probably Zara, the red haired sophomore at her school. He liked to make nice with the parents of the students. She had the vague idea that he got a kick out of it. Like it was some private game of his. See how many shipping magnate or hedge fund parents he could charm.

“Come,” he said, breaking off from conversation with probably-Zara’s-dad and grasping her by the elbow.

“Is it starting?”

He let go his grip on her elbow, gently laying his hand at the small of her back. “Any minute now. We should take our seats.”

The carpet was a deep burgundy, as were the seats in the large auditorium and all the gilt edging and the rich colors made it look a little like some grand old cinema.

“We have a box,” he said, steering her away from the seats down the front and up the stairs to the boxed in enclosures adorning the walls of the theater. She followed him into the enclosed space, looking wonderingly about her and bending over the railing at the front of the small box, peering out at the box stalls on the other side.

A knock at the door of their stall grabbed her attention. She looked over her shoulder as her dad went to answer it, ushering in a waiter in a suit and tie. He placed an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne in the corner that her dad indicated to him and two glasses onto a little table that sat between the richly embroidered chairs

“Merci,” he said quietly, palming a tip into the waiters hand.

“This is pretty cool,” she said, grinning at him as the waiter closed the door behind him. They were by themselves now, in the privacy of their little box. “Can I have some champagne then? You didn't order anything else.”

Laughing, he reached for the champagne, which had been popped earlier. “Yes, you may. Sit down and I'll pour you a glass. And shh,” he said as the sound of the crowd down in the seats below died down. “The performance is beginning.”

Silently, she accepted her glass from him, leaning over again to check out the orchestra. The music had started with a suddenness that startled her. She'd almost spilled her drink. Music that filled the massive room, that made her tingle. Music that captivated her dad. He wasn't looking at her. Her was looking out at the orchestra, his face telling her that he wasn't really with her, he was somewhere far away. He looked enraptured, his eyes staring far off.

She quietly finished her glass of champagne. Furtively, a hand slipped from her lap and circled the neck of the bottle that sat just in arms reach of her. She looked back over at her dad but he was still gazing out at the orchestra, a weird half smile on his face that almost made her drop the bottle and reach for him instead. How could someone who was smiling look so unhappy?

But she didn't want to disturb him. And she really did want a second glass of the champagne. So she poured it steadily into her glass, replacing the bottle as surreptitiously as she could. If the lights hadn't been so dim, he probably would have noticed even with his current inattention. But he was captivated, the lights were low and she knew how to be sneaky and keep her movements unobtrusive.

By the intermission, she was drunk.

“Lizzie!” His accusing voice rang out in the small box as the lights rose. “How much have you had?”

A nervous giggle erupted from her throat. “Just enough to make this more fun.”

He frowned and stood up, reaching to inspect the bottle, tutting in frustration as he realized she’d had the contents of a full bottle, save for his own glassful.

He shouldn't be that upset though. It was just champagne. She didn't feel sick, just giggly. It wasn't like last time when she'd had stronger liquor and too much of it. She'd been sick that time but she didn't feel dizzy or sick now. She felt fun and and wanted to _have_ fun.

“Better belly burst than good liquor be lost, I suppose,” he muttered, grabbing her face and tipping her chin up to look into her eyes. “If you keep this up, I'll need to send you to rehab.”

“What!” She squawked, standing up too. “That's silly! I've only drunk like three times ever. And what's that about bursting bellies?”

His face twitched as though he were trying to hide a smile. He picked up her coat and purse, grabbing her elbow firmly. “Jonathan Swift. One of his nuggets of wisdom. We’re leaving, Elizabeth. I'm not having you out in public while you're drunk.”

She didn't protest. She liked the way he was holding her. It almost hurt. It was weird. She didn't _want_ him to hurt her but this firmness edging on pain made her feel...good.

She had to scramble to keep up with his pace as they marched through the lobby and out into the street where their driver waited for them. It was one of many of their security team in the driver’s seat, parked under a bright streetlight. He opened the car door for her and she scrambled in.

It didn't matter, did it? That they were leaving early. She'd been bored anyway. But she felt a pang of guilt when she saw the look on his face as he slid into the back seat beside her.

She tried to place a hand into his but his hands both remained firmly resting palms down on his knees. He looked grim. Wasn't he overreacting though? She wanted him to know she was okay.

“I'm sorry, we didn't need to leave though. People get drunk all the time,” she said timidly, secretly glad that they had left, regardless of whether or not it was needed.

He said nothing to her, only sighing as the car pulled out from the parking space. The drive home was quiet. He eventually took her hand though and rubbed it between both of his, as though she were cold. But she wasn't cold. She wanted him to look at her.

“You didn't mean it about rehab, did you,” came her small voice when they were in the house and he had handed her back her coat and purse.

“No, of course not,” he said shortly. “We need to have another talk about rules though Lizzie. Perhaps this is a conversation better left for the morning. Go upstairs and brush your teeth. You need to sleep it off. I'll be in my study a while.”

She watched him forlornly as he turned away from her. Once again, she had ruined things for him. She realized now that he had probably been looking forward to tonight. She'd ruined a treat for him. And he probably didn't get many of those. Her chest constricted as she began to wonder how much he gave up in order to be her dad. He had probably lived a fairly wild existence before her. And then she'd come along and changed it for him.

Her shoulders slumped as she slowly climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She hadn't been dizzy before but as she ascended the stairs she began to feel a little woozy, just a touch tipsier than she’d thought she was.

She opened her bedroom door, her thoughts wandering freely. What could she do to make things better?

Her eyes alighted on a pair of black underpants half hanging out of her dresser. They weren't incredibly sexy. But she had a cute matching bra with little red flowers across it.

She was pretty. Her dad told her that all the time. She could be sexy too.

With new purpose she strode across her room, pulling the panties and bra from her dresser. She undressed quickly and put them on. Thinking fast, she rifled through her make up bag. She'd put on a little mascara and lip gloss tonight but that wouldn't do for this. For what she wanted to do for him.

As carefully as she could in from of her mirror, with her hand a little unsteady, she drew a bow across her lips with red lip liner and filled it in. She reapplied her mascara, heavily this time and added red lipstick within the lines of the lip liner.

She smacked her lips, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. She looked awesome. She fluffed her hair a little. It was still a sleek bob, curling around her ears. She'd had it trimmed in Geneva last week.

Perfect.

One more thing. She got on her hands and knees and pulled out a shoe box from under her bed. She hadn't told her dad that she'd bought these shoes. She somehow felt he wouldn't like them but now, with a belly full of champagne, she wasn't sure why she had ever thought that. They were strappy black stiletto heels, four inches at least. She buckled herself into them and walked around the room once in a test run. She wobbled a little but that was to be expected given the alcohol she'd drunk.

 

* * *

 

Irritated and tired, he'd retreated to his study. Luli had faxed him a report on his business in Croatia that very evening. He had a feeling he would need to travel there soon to put down a rival group who were causing trouble for some of his agents. He'd been laundering the Euro quite undisturbed until recently. It was apparent that he'd have to dip a toe back in, show his face a bit to remind people that it was the Concierge of Crime they were dealing with.

He would have to shed blood to make a point and that wearied him. He took no enjoyment from it but apparently it couldn't be avoided.

He was just about to flick his cell phone open and make some calls when he heard the clip clop of a pair of heels on the polished wooden staircase. It was Lizzie of course. His head snapped up, listening to her progress down the hallway. Why did her footsteps sound so slow and labored? Was she more drunk than he'd thought?

He whirled around as she arrived in the doorway.

“Hi,” she said shyly.

She looked like a baby giraffe, all long legs and unbalanced pose. _Those shoes._ They were ridiculous on her. Fury and disgust twisted in his gut, clawed it's way up his throat and filled his mouth with words.

“Women who can't walk properly in heels shouldn't wear them. It's not graceful at all,” he said bitingly before he knew what he was about.

Her face dimmed for a moment and his heart lurched. He hadn't meant...he didn't want to...but no, she was fine. She tottered further into the room, one hand on her hip, her lower lip protruding oddly as though she were…

Was she trying to seduce him?

He frowned at her as she stumbled to the floor in front of him, eyes fluttering. “What are you doing?”

She snaked a hand out, her nimble fingers unzipping his fly before he could react.

“Get up,” he said, roughly seizing her by the shoulders and hauling her to her feet. “Your behavior is embarrassing.”

He bit his tongue. He was such a careful man with words. They were his weapon, used in the right way, words were far more effective than a knife or a gun. The right thing said in just the right place had been his deliverance from certain death on more than one occasion. So why was he using them now with such laxity?

She wobbled, her eyes widening in alarm as he held her at arms length. “I was just...I was-”

“You were _just_ going back upstairs and changing into your pajamas. I don't want to see you up again until tomorrow morning.”

Jerking back as though she'd been slapped, she stood stiffly, unmoving despite the unsteadiness of her shoes. His words appeared to have shocked her into sobriety. “You never want to talk to me anymore,” she whispered.

“That's not true-”

“Yes it is. You're always on the phone or out or locked up in here,” she gestured to the room around them.

“I might remind you that we were spending time together tonight but that was cut short by your actions, Elizabeth.” He was struggling to keep his temper in check. She was being so damnably unreasonable.

“What was the point,” she said nastily. “What was the point of coming to get me if you're just wishing you could send me away all the time. You probably want to send me to school as a boarder. Why don't you just send me back to America? That's what you want, isn't it?”

He shivered with the force of his rage. He would not, he _must_ not lose his temper with her. He was simply unused to being spoken to in this way. It didn't come with the territory in his position. He took a calming breath. “If you don't want to live with me anymore, you don't have to,” he said firmly.

She threw her hands up, deliberately flinging a stack of paperwork lying on the desk into the air. The papers scattered everywhere, falling like confetti onto the ground. “I can't win with you!”

He stared at her, amazed at her display of petulance. “Nor I with you, it seems. You've turned a lovely evening into quite a little tragedy. Why must you behave so childishly?”

Her eyes went round and wide at that, glittering dangerously. He almost stepped back for a moment. She took a huge breath and howled, “BECAUSE I’M ALLOWED,” and ran from the room, her drunken steps and sobbing breath his guide to where she was headed - not her bedroom, but the library at the rear of the house.

He closed his eyes a moment.

Right now, he wasn't feeling very loving. She was still his _daughter_ and she was behaving as though she were five. He could have used a glass or two more of that champagne at this point.

Sighing heavily, he followed her through to the library where he discovered the door to be locked. He rattled it in irritation. “Lizzie? Open the door.”

This was beyond anything. He knew teenagers were difficult. He'd been no walk in the park for his own parents, a precocious kid of above average intelligence. But he somehow had never connected the dots to his own girl child becoming difficult. At least not like this. Where everything he said or did could be weighed for offense.

“I'm not opening the door,” she yelled through the keyhole.

His voice boomed loud and sharp. “ _Yes_ , you are.”

Silence fell for a moment and then he heard the rattle and click of the lock as she opened the door.

He stepped inside as she turned her back to him, marching toward a bookcase. She reached above her head for a heavy textbook, turned around, looking him straight in the face and launched the book at his head.

He barely ducked in time. But the next book hit him. And the next. He made it to her in time to twist the fourth book from her hands.

She threw her hands up at him, protecting her face as though she expected him to hit her.

It was like an electric shock. Her gasping sobs, her shoulders hunched, arms thrown up and head bowed, cringing away from him like a kicked dog.

After everything they had been through, did she fear him after all?

“Lizzie,” he said gently, taking her wrists and uncrossing them. He pulled her arms to her side and pressed her up against a bookcase. “Lizzie, baby. Hush, sweetheart, hush. Come here.”

She permitted herself to be folded up against him. He stroked her hair, kissing away the tears on her heated cheeks. She was so precious, so dear to him. He had allowed himself to forget that, allowed himself to get distracted with the everyday irritations of a routine existence.

He could fix this.

Pulling her over to an armchair, he sank with her into it and arranged her in his lap, still petting her tenderly. His little girl, his baby was crying. He didn't understand her at all but he hated to see her cry. It produced a savagery in his chest, an urge to shatter and destroy whatever was hurting her.

It maddened him that he couldn't do that any longer. So often the thing that hurt her most was himself.

“I recall,” he murmured into her hair, “your first time walking across a room. I missed out on your very first steps darling but did you know the first time you crossed an entire room, you were laughing. You were so excited, Lizzie baby. You walked right into my arms.”

He sighed, stroking her face with his hand, letting that memory wash over him. She had been so innocent, so excitable.

“I remember something,” she said softly, her sobs quieted. She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, wiping her nose all over his front. “Before the fire. Just one thing. I wasn't allowed to jump on the bed and I _knew_ that so I pulled a chair up by the door and climbed onto it and locked the door.”

He looked down on her and watched a tentative smile blossom as she relived her memory. Precious girl.

She glanced up at him. “I jumped on the bed for a while but then I couldn't get the door unlocked.”

He chuckled, pulling her in further to him, her head tucked safely under his chin. “I remember that. I had to find a screwdriver and take the door handle apart. You were screaming bloody murder about it the whole time through the door at me.”

“Hmm, was I naughty?”

“No, darling, you were never naughty.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

He laughed and kissed her hair. “Maybe a little one.”

They sat in a pleasant silence. She was shivering a little in his arms. Unsurprising really, when she chose to come downstairs clothed in nothing but underwear.

“Lizzie?”

“Hmm?”

“No more drinking, darling.”

She twisted to look at him, outrage back on her face. “ _You_ let me. I don't see why I-”

“Enough.”

He'd said it low, he hadn't yelled but he finally felt as though he'd reached her. She burrowed her head into his chest in response, cuddling into the warmth of his body, saying nothing.

He cradled her against him gently. It would all be okay. She needed a firm hand, that was all.

  
  
  



	25. Chapter 25

The bustling and chaotic French Riviera was a stark change from the slow village life she'd been getting used to at school.

Her dad was teaching her extra languages. Although French and German were on the curriculum, he wanted to add Italian, Russian and Chinese.

She baulked at that.

She sat next to him at a corner table of the cafe downstairs from the resort they were staying at. It overlooked the harbor. It was a nice place to eat their breakfast and relax as a gentle sea breeze wafted over them, stirring her hair a little as she bent over her waffles dripping in maple syrup.

“You want me to learn all of these languages all at once...I can't do it,” she said, scanning the books he'd brought down from the suite, panicking about it all. “French and German is already enough!” She couldn't believe he'd brought all these texts with them. They were supposed to be having their first holiday weekend together. She didn't want to think about school.

He chuckled, scooping her up and pulling her into his lap. That had been a new thing. He would often sit her on his lap, in public just as frequently as in private now. It made her feel uneasy. But she didn't want to upset him or hurt his feelings so she said nothing.

“Alright, alright. For now let's concentrate on the school curriculum. But you _are_ a smart girl. I  don't want to see it go to waste.”

Her stomach knotted. Sometimes she didn't feel so smart. She was struggling with French at school. Most of her subjects came naturally to her so it had been a nasty surprise to find that she seemed to have a block on learning a new language. She desperately wanted him to be proud of her and she had joined the French club and was studying quite late most nights.

It made her feel brittle and tearful. She never used to cry at the drop of a hat but sometimes she'd shut herself up in the bathroom, strip down and turn the water on scaldingly hot. It was just hot enough to help her cry.

It was school, that was all. That was what was going on.

“Do you recognize this old face or are you still having a sulk about that diamond heist,” broke in a musical voice. A shadow appeared above them. Lizzie's head snapped up. The form of a girl, well, a woman really, a slender woman with glorious honey brown hair and a wide, sensuous mouth, heavily made up in scarlet tones stood before them.

Pushing her off of his lap, her dad grinned, “Agate, you she-devil! No, no hard feelings. I left my flank wide open. I only got what I deserved. Did you have fun spending the money?”

Tossing her head, she slid gracefully into a chair across from them both. “You know me better than that. Wasn't I your best student? I've invested. My father and I have shared stakes in a casino on the Cote d’Azur. We’re doing quite well. It's a shame we haven't seen you in these parts for a while,” she finished archly.

This woman was different from Rosa. Where Rosa was pleasantly beautiful, with a soft, curvaceous body, this woman was as tall as a supermodel, her rich brown hair waving thickly just above her elbows. She had the body of a model too, her waist was smaller than Lizzie's and _she_ hadn't even finished growing yet. She couldn't help but feel slightly awed, a thrill running through her as the young woman adjusted her oversized sunglasses and peered down at Lizzie.

Smiling a mega watt smile, the beautiful woman leaned over to ask, “who’s your little friend?”

For a moment, Lizzie tensed, wondering how she was to be introduced. Who was this woman and how was she connected to her dad? But he was open with her.

“Let me introduce you to Elizabeth, my daughter,” he said, giving the woman just a hint of a challenging stare. “Elizabeth, this is Agate Beaudoin, a thief of consummate skill and a first rate spy.”

For the first time in this short conversation, the young woman looked surprised. But she schooled her features quickly, reaching her hand out to shake Lizzie’s limply.

“Charmed,” she simpered. “Red, if I'd known you had a daughter I'm not sure our little fling would have gone quite the way that it did.” She shuddered theatrically. “Having children automatically ages you at _least_ ten years. It's what my mother always said.” She grinned at Lizzie teasingly. “Never mind me, Elizabeth, I do love to poke a stick at your dear old dad here. He enjoys it too much for me to stop.” She winked at him, flicking a hand up attempting to capture the attention of a nearby waiter.

Lizzie felt sick. She had no hope of him wanting to spend time with her this weekend now. Not with this woman, who was clearly an ex girlfriend, in town.

She quietly stacked her books, pulling them towards her. “I should go upstairs and get ready...if we’re still going to the beach today?” She couldn't help the question in her voice. He looked really happy, sitting here with Agate. Maybe he wouldn't want to hurry away?

Turning his attention from Agate, he smiled warmly at her, “yes, that's the plan.”

Agate’s hands fluttered together in a delicate clap. “Oh, let me show you a beach I've recently come across! It's not far from here at all. Please. Include me, it'll be such fun,” she said, laying a hand lightly over Raymond's.

It shouldn't be a difficult decision, Lizzie thought a little resentfully. She only really saw him at dinner during the week. They were both so busy, her at school and he with his work. It was tricky maintaining the strings to a global empire from the phone and fax machine of a little village in Switzerland.

He nodded slowly while her heart sank. “It would be a pleasure,” he said suavely. “We have time for your morning Cappuccino, Agate and then we’ll need to be off. Think you can manage that?”

“Absolutely,” she beamed at them both as Lizzie smiled weakly back, turning to go inside. This was not shaping up to be the trip she'd hoped for.

* * *

 

Raymond sat back and relaxed in his chair as he watched Lizzie retreat. He was unsure about this but she'd not brought a single friend home from school and Agate wasn't miles apart in age. Perhaps they'd hit it off. Two smart, vivacious young women. Of course they'd hit it off.

“She have a mother? Asked Agate in tones a shade cooler than she'd been using in front of Lizzie.

“Dead,” he said briefly.

Her eyelids flickered. “Oh? who killed her?”

“No one on our side of the fence, if you must know.”

Agate nodded, accepting the light rebuff. “I assume she has someone to fill that gap. It would be a heartbreaking thing to deprive the girl of a woman to look up to.”

He swallowed. Agate was a good sort. She'd stolen a large shipment of gems he'd been working with her on acquiring last year though. Her father was an old friend, a masterly thief and Red had owed the old man a favour or two so he'd taken the nineteen year old Agate on, taught how how to become a spy. She'd been one of his most apt pupils. The only one better was Luli, also a young woman of prodigious talent. He'd trained them both, unarmed combat, languages, money laundering, and the hardest one of all to master, covert operations. It wasn't fun or exciting, learning to remain in the same position perhaps for hours and watch someone attentively and also unobtrusively.

Agate had shown particular skill as a spy whereas Luli had shown an aptitude for business and finance. Luli was now one of his most trusted associates. She was currently in New York, keeping the syndicate in tip top shape with Newton Phillips.

It had been a pity really, he held no grudges toward this amazing woman but he never worked twice with someone who had broken his trust.

It didn't mean he couldn't enjoy her company though. She was a hell of a woman. Perhaps she was right. Lizzie needed a woman in her life to help her with her self-confidence. He'd been worrying over her timidity lately. It was very unlike her.

“How old are you now, Agate?” He asked interestedly.

“Hmm,” she mused as she finally caught the attention of a waiter, ordering her coffee in elegant French. She turned back to him with a coquettish smile. “You should remember, you deflowered me on my twenty first birthday.”

He winced. “Perhaps we won’t mention that to Lizzie...she's fourteen, darling. She doesn't want to hear _those_ sorts of stories.”

Agate sniffed. “Of course, I'm not completely stupid, you know. And I'm twenty four, I might as well tell you, since you've clearly forgotten.” She leaned forward and he couldn't help but respond by leaning toward her a little too. “I'm surprised,” she said, “you don't go around telling many people that you trained me as a spy. Is she _really_ your daughter?”

Leaning back again, he stamped down a frisson of irritation. Agate had always been a bit jealous. He even suspected that whole fiasco last year had been in revenge for a dance he'd had the night before the scheduled heist with a Colombian bombshell he'd taken back to his suite afterwards.

It had been some dance.

“Yes, she _is_ my daughter, not the competition. As I said, she's fourteen and it would please me if you would make friends with her. I think she'd like that.”

She visibly relaxed, settling back happily. “Leave it to me then. A girl chat is exactly what she needs.”

* * *

 

“It's not a busy beach,” said Agate, clambering over a large rock like a gazelle. “But it's popular enough, and the scenery is just lovely.” She turned to smile at Lizzie, her flowy peach kaftan swirling lightly in the breeze. She'd been ignoring Raymond since they'd arrived at the beach, her cheerful conversation reserved entirely for Lizzie. “So tell me, Elizabeth, do you go to school?”

Lizzie looked uncertainly from Agate to her father.

Her dad wasn't looking at either of them though. “We don't discuss Lizzie’s school for security reasons, Agate, darling. You know better than that,” he said, frowning and checking his watch, glancing over at a point on the far side of the beach. “If you’ll excuse me girls, I'm going to speak with my head of security for just a moment. Don't go far.” He swung back to give Agate a hard look. “Don't go misbehaving now. Lizzie’s a good girl. She tells me everything.”

Agate made a moue of displeasure but acknowledged his words with an infinitesimal jerk of her head.

Lizzie could feel her chin trembling. He had never called Rosa darling. And now that she compared the two women she could see, plain as day that Rosa was only ever a good friend despite their intimacy. Simon had tried to explain it but she hadn't understood.

Here was someone who was _not_ just a friend and to her own embarrassment she felt a yearning to be just like her. She wanted Agate to extend her friendship, to mother her a little even. How strange that she wanted this fashionable, gorgeous woman, only a few years older than herself to mother her and she had resisted Rosa’s open affections so fiercely.

She walked along the stony path to the beach, letting Agate take the lead.

The tanned brunette turned to look her up and down, a curious expression on her face. “Do you want to rent a float and sunbathe out on the water?”

“Sure,” said Lizzie brightly, relieved that there was something she could agree to. She was nervous that the woman was about to start pumping her for information about her dad; he'd schooled her in how to respond in those situations...and it wasn't in a way that was designed to make friends.

They'd had to share a float in the end. There was only one left for hire. Agate had paid for it and handed it straight on to Lizzie, strolling towards the water, not looking back once. She'd pulled her kaftan off just before reaching the water, revealing a skimpy white string bikini. Lizzie gulped. Her eyes roved over the other woman's body. She was so slim but still managed to have the most perfect, pert breasts, much more than just a handful. How did she do it?

She looked down at her own emerald green bikini. She knew she looked good in it. Her dad had chosen it for her and he had an eye for what looked good on a woman.

Or so he kept telling her.

She wished her boobs looked like Agate’s though. Her own skin was pale and burned so easily. She looked over at Agate’s skin as she walked into the water, sinking herself deeper into the calm surf. _Her_ skin was a smooth, natural tan. She didn't look like she even knew what a zit was.

“So you and my dad used to date?” She ventured uncomfortably, pushing the float out towards the woman.

That only produced mocking laughter as Agate floated gently onto her back, her hair fanning out into the water, strands of brown and lighter honey tones haloing her face. “No, darling, we used to work together...and had a mutually satisfying arrangement after hours, you could say. There's a difference. Your daddy doesn't really date.”

“Um, okay.” Well, she had nothing else. What was she supposed to say to that?

Agate ducked her head briefly underwater, coming up again with slicked back hair. “He never mentioned you,” she said lightly, swimming a few strokes past Lizzie. “Were you a recent surprise for him?”

“Nooo,” she responded slowly, reluctant to say more and miserably confused about what else to say. “Hey, so you’re French right? I'm learning French at school.” She winced inwardly at her awkward change of subject but really, what was she supposed to do?

“I am, of course. Red likes his women European. But you've probably noticed that,” she said archly. “Is he a terrible reprobate, Elizabeth? Should we punish him?” She smiled wickedly, mischief sparkling in her hazel eyes.

“He...hasn't really had time for girlfriends,” she muttered, looking away.

Agate smiled, slow satisfaction rippling across her face. “Would you like it if he had time for me? I've a tendre for your father, I'll confess to _you_.”

“I don't know…” She began uncomfortably. “He doesn't really ask for my opinion on who he spends his time with.”

There was a hardness growing in Agate’s eyes as she listened to Lizzie speak. Her expression hadn't really changed at all, still smoothly smiling but there was a suggestion of flint in her face that hadn't been there before.

They were both silent a while, letting the calm water cradle them, drifting down the beach. Agate shielded her eyes for a moment, searching for Red out on the sand. She seemed to locate him quickly enough because she turned back to Lizzie purposefully. “You're so pale darling. You're going to get ugly tan lines in the next twenty minutes if you're not careful. Why don't you come up on the float and take your bikini top off? It'll give you more of an even coverage.”

“Ah,” Lizzie craned her neck, looking around her. Would anyone see? Would she be able to do it? That was so weird. And her dad! He'd be coming back any moment. This couldn't be a good idea. She couldn't see anyone else with their top off. “It doesn't look like it's a nudist beach,” she said weakly.

Flipping water at her playfully, Agate swam closer to her. “Nonsense! Over here, every beach is a nudist beach. It's culturally far more commonplace than you're used to in your puritanical country.

Lizzie looked anxiously back and forth between the beach and Agate.

She gave Lizzie an amused look, laughing, a tinkly sound. “Darling, you're not a _prude_ are you? Goodness, you'll butt heads with Red before long if you are.” She swam a few feet out, grasping the bright green and orange plastic float they'd rented from the clubhouse and hauled herself across it sideways. She patted the squeaky wet plastic, inviting Lizzie to jump on as well.

“I'm not, I'm just...” she looked around her cagily. Her dad still hadn't come back and she felt really strange. She'd never hated her body before but the sight of Agate swanning around with her barely there bikini looking like some sort of sex goddess was making her feel sad and gross about herself.  She didn't _want_ to go nude...even if it was a nudist beach.

But if Agate was right, and her dad thought she was being a prude. Well, what if he got bored with her? What if he was finding her annoying. What if he didn't want to be...close...with her anymore? What if he wanted to spend all his time with Agate from now on? Why had they broken up anyway?

She reluctantly hauled herself up beside the lovely brunette. “I'm not a prude, I just...you don't think it's weird with my dad here?”

Rolling her eyes, Agate patted her shoulder condescendingly. “Red has spent a _lot_ of time in Europe. Any foolish American hang ups he might once have had are long gone. I'm surprised he allowed you to be raised there.”

“Okay then…can you...help me?”

“Of course.” Agate flashed a brief smile at her, reaching for her bikini strings, unknotting them easily.

She felt the small piece of cloth slip from her chest, the cold water splashing up onto her nipples. She gasped. It felt completely different. No one had really turned to look but she felt as though everyone's eyes were on her. She grimaced, trying to appear relaxed, floating about next to Agate in the water. She pushed herself low onto the float, attempting to cover her breasts.

“Was your mother very beautiful, Elizabeth?”

She blinked just once, slowly. A strange stab of sadness had torn through her chest at Agate’s words. She didn't think she'd ever felt the need to grieve over a mother she'd never known, but all of a sudden, the topic felt sore and certainly far too personal to share with this stranger. “I don't really talk about her,” she muttered, stealing a glance at the woman's lovely profile as she spoke.

Agate looked displeased, her full lips pursing into a prim pout. “Of course,” she said, the words gracious enough but the tone telling Lizzie she was in disgrace.

Misbehaving in front of Rosa had always felt kind of like ringing an alarm for more attention from her dad. She felt somewhere inside, almost unconsciously that she needed his whole attention, that she _must_ have it. She knew some of the things she had done were because of a creeping, nasty fear that he would grow tired of her. Causing him trouble kept his focus solely on her and she liked it that way. It was different with this woman. She had an awful feeling that if she didn't make a friend of Agate that she had the power to supplant her in his affections. What if she tried to turn her dad against her? Her stomach hardened and her chest tightened as these thoughts raced through her head.

“Girls!”

Her head spun around in time to catch an odd look on her father's face. His thoughts on her partial nudity were indecipherable from his expression alone but she heard a burst of giggles coming from Agate.

He waved them toward him, standing ankle deep in the water. It was awkward and horrifying. He wanted them to leave the water for some reason but how was she supposed to get her bikini back on?

“Can you help me?” She asked Agate in a panic.

The woman laughed, seizing her bikini top and splashing out of the water. “Of course,” she said, “come up out of the water and bring the float.”

Well at least there was the float. She felt her cheeks burning as she churned the water around her legs, splashing and clambering about to get back into shallower water with the float placed strategically in front of her. She could feel her dad’s eyes on her even though she hadn't looked at him since coming out of the water.

She squeaked as Agate took the float from her. “Here, let me help you Elizabeth,” she said solicitously, attempting to wrap the bikini top around her in a strangely clumsy effort.

“There's a security risk I've been made aware of. We need to leave the area,” her dad said lightly as though he wasn't looking at her naked breasts. “I'd like to move fast. Agate, I'll have a car take you to the casino. Lizzie and I will go for a drive along the esplanade. I'm not convinced it's a good idea to show our faces here or back at the suite just yet.”

After her top was finally back in place, they hurried to the cars lined up in the bright sun in front of a seafood restaurant. He opened the back passenger door of the first car, pushing her head down firmly as she slipped in. He said something she couldn't hear to Agate, sending a weird bolt of resentment through her chest. It faded as suddenly as it had come, with him sliding into the back seat beside her. She hadn't even heard what he'd said outside the car so she wasn't sure why she was feeling upset. She just was.

“What security risk?” She rasped, her voice sounding unnatural to her own ears.

He gave her a sharp look, studying her through his tinted sunglasses. “Interpol has sent out a few alerts recently. There's enough chatter to make me uneasy. I’d like to keep moving for the next few hours. How would you like to get a milkshake in the next town over?”

“I'm not really thirsty,” she said, licking her dry lips and swallowing, realizing the lie as she felt the dryness in her throat. She didn't want anything right now though. She wanted to go home. She wanted to put more clothes on. She was still in her bikini and felt naked, exposed and uncomfortable. The air conditioning in the car was giving her a chill, hardening her nipples as they travelled along the esplanade.

Why did she feel so strange?

She’d never felt so ugly. Her body didn't even feel like it belonged to her. She felt a vague sense of distance from it, like she was _outside_ of her body. She thought peevishly of her flat breasts, pasty skin and jaw that was so unfeminine. She hated her face, the shape of it, the slope of her shoulders...everything really. Did anyone else feel like this? It was like she were adrift in the middle of a slimy oil slick on the ocean, dirty and alone.

They drove for hours until her dad felt it was safe to return to the apartment. She changed into clothes for dinner silently, her mind a million mile away, buzzing with the mundane details of school and languages and anything else but the awkwardness of that day.

She felt herself automatically going through the motions through dinner. His conversation was equally bland and robotic, it seemed to her.

“ _It's a beautiful drive through the hills Lizzie. We could do the mountains here next time.”_

_“What did you think of that beach then? Compared to the Amalfi Coast?”_

She smiled and answered his questions the way she thought he might want her to. But she'd been far away.

When they returned to their suite, he made it apparent that he was aware she was out of sorts. The front door shut and he followed her into the living room. He reached for her hand, trying to pull her down onto the leather armchair.

“I really need a shower,” she said, desperately apologetic. “I'll be quick,” and with that she disappeared into the ensuite of her room. She locked the door, feeling guilty for it but she couldn't bear the idea of him walking into the bathroom and seeing her. She wanted to cry at the thought of that. Why was she feeling this way? What had changed?

She stayed in the shower long enough to know that soon he'd be knocking on her locked door, checking on her. Despite the warmth of the Mediterranean evening, she put on her thickest pajama pants and a tank top and made her way back out to the living room, dragging her feet.

She found him at the window, hands behind his back, gazing out at the view, at the midnight sea rippling darkly, ruffled by a light breeze.

He turned to her smiling, reaching to fold her into his arms. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let's sit.”

He drew her into the armchair, her legs over his, her bottom resting on his lap. Squeezing her tightly, he stroked her scar and was silent, just holding her for a moment, as though he were gathering his courage to say something.

He looked into her face and she presented her cheek to him to be kissed, almost perfunctorily. She didn't want to be naked in front of him today. But he clearly wanted her. She could feel him under her, perched on his lap as she was.

“Lizzie,” he said gently, “if this isn't okay anymore...if you want to stop, I'll still want you in my life as much as ever. I love you, baby.” He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Do you still want this? I need to know.” He smoothed a finger over her eyebrow.

She nestled into him, bowing her head to fit under his chin and pressed her body into his chest. “Can we just kiss?” She asked softly, encouraged by his words.

Squeezing his arms around her, he kissed the top of her head, smacking his lips playfully. “Of course, precious girl. Anything you like.”

Heart easing, body unbending into him, she felt a tiny sigh escape her lips. She loved him so much. She felt his lips at the nape of her neck, dropping ticklish kisses down her neck and shoulder. He nuzzled the crook of her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her.

“You smell so lovely after a shower,” he murmured. “I don't know what it is. Is it your body wash?” He gently lifted and repositioned her, his mouth finding and sucking slowly on her earlobe. “Is it...your shampoo?” His lips kissed a trail down her neck to her throat, hovering above her breasts. “Is it just the smell of your wet hair?” This time he reached a hand to her tank top, tugging it down to reveal her breasts. They spilled out of her top into his hands.

She took in a sharp breath. “You said just kissing,” she objected breathlessly.

He chuckled, his mouth already suckling on her nipple. He let her go momentarily. “I _am_ just kissing. I'm being good, baby. It's just that...there are so many special spots to kiss.”

She closed her eyes, trying to deal with the the electrifying tingles traveling through her body, from her between her legs to her fingers and toes, little frissons of excitement, of desire. She needed him to just hold and kiss her tonight but what he was doing was making her _breathless_.

His head was bent to her breasts and she couldn't help arching against him. He was making happy little noises, his tongue laving her delicate pink buds. His hands were caressing her ribs, sending the most delicious feelings coursing through her.

“Lizzie, your clothes are getting in the way...of my kisses,” he whispered against her skin. “Help me take them off.”

“Please,” she begged in a small voice, “please, can we just kiss.”

Laughing darkly, he gripped her bottom and stood from his armchair with her in his arms. “I promise, just kissing.” He kissed her slowly, his tongue lazily exploring her mouth. He just _stood_ there, holding her to him, her legs wrapped around his waist and his hands cupping her bottom firmly. He walked into the bedroom so smoothly that she barely realised they'd moved to another room, so intoxicated with his touch that her senses were fuzzy.

He laid her gently out onto the bed, covering her with his body, trapping her with his arms.

Scanning the room wildly from left to right, her eyes finally met his. “Please,” she asked again, softly and one more time.

“Just kisses,” he agreed, tugging her pyjama bottoms down her legs, baring her milky white flesh and the soft curl of pubic hair between her legs to him.

He bent his head again, nudging her legs apart with his nose. She opened her legs wider obediently, confusing tears stinging her eyes. Why was she crying? She swiped at her eyes fiercely, frightened of her tears. It was more than she wanted right now but he was looking after her, being gentle and nice to her.

With one long swipe, his tongue traveled from just above her puckered hole to her clit. She shuddered under his ministrations, her knees trembling and squeezing spasmodically around his ears.

His tongue drove into her, darting inside of her, massaging her clit. His hands had gripped hers and he was stroking her palms with each thumb reassuringly. He was increasing pressure on her clit, licking and nipping gently, sucking her into his mouth and wiggling his tongue between her folds by turns.

Her breasts were still hanging out of her tank top and she felt a sudden wave of shame crest out of nowhere, crashing down on her. It was though she were drowning in it. Gasping, her lungs squeezed out any breath she had left. Just as she felt her climax ripple through her, a flurry of sobs escaped her as well. Sobbing in distress, she attempted to pull away and unable to tell which way was up or down, she clumsily hit his head with her knees.

“Lizzie, baby what's wrong?” He asked in alarm, grasping for her, trying to pull her back to him.

“I don't know,” she wept wildly. Her limbs flailed as she flung him off of her, scrabbling at the sheets, desperately trying to cover herself. “I don't know,” she wept again, falling to her side and pulling her knees up to her chin, throwing the sheet over her head. “Turn the light off, _please_ ,” she begged.

For a moment he didn't move, then slowly she felt him crawl off the bed and the room was suddenly shrouded in darkness.

“Lizzie,” he whispered, his voice coming from in front of her. He must have walked around the bed. “I'm sorry. Do you want to cuddle now?”

“No,” she moaned, wadding the sheet into her mouth to muffle the strange wail that was bubbling up from the pit of her stomach. “Please go,” she said tearfully, chomping again on the cotton sheet. “I need to sleep by myself tonight.”

She felt his presence in the dark, heard his quiet footsteps on the carpet as he left the room, closing the door with a gentle click.

And she waited for sleep, craving it badly. But the silence in the room wouldn't allow it. The dark had never been so full of other things before.

 


	26. Chapter 26

Raymond Reddington sat grimly in an armchair in the living room of their suite. He wanted to go back into that bedroom and have it out with his daughter but she had been distressed enough that he felt it would be best to keep his annoyance to himself for now.

She would keep.

He thumbed idly through the textbooks he'd bought her, mouthing the lessons silently to himself out of sheer boredom when a gentle knock at the door startled him from his dark thoughts. He wondered with mild curiously who it might be. Whoever it was had been waved through his security. Surely not Agate?

It was.

He ushered her into the suite, politely giving her a kiss of greeting on both cheeks. “What brings this unexpected pleasure to my door?” He inquired.

She shrugged delicately. “I was bored. I thought perhaps you and Lizzie might like to play a hand of cards.”

Ah. Hmm.

“I'm sorry, Agate but Lizzie is in bed. It's...late. I was planning on retiring myself shortly. Perhaps you might like to join us for the little shopping expedition that we have planned tomorrow?”

She laughed, a little nastily, he thought with some concern.

“Somehow, I don't think Lizzie and I share the same...tastes,” she murmured. Her eyes brightened mischievously. “Come and have a nightcap in my suite tomorrow night,” she said, an eyebrow arched suggestively. “I'm dining with my father at the casino at eight but if you can manage to tuck your...daughter in by ten, you're more than welcome to drop by.” She sashayed closer to him, stroking the lapel of his jacket. “Here's my room key,” she deftly placed the flat access card into his inner pocket. “Think about it, darling.”

He watched her spin on her heel, her hips swaying enchantingly. His heart was hammering in his chest. It would be a lie to say he wasn't tempted but it wasn't her offer that was leaving him with sweaty palms and a tight, anxious feeling in his stomach.

It was Lizzie.

He understood now. He enjoyed women, loved them. Dancing the night away, inhaling the sweet perfume that bloomed with the natural scent of a woman as she swayed in his arms...that was heaven. Women who were soft, hard, smart, fun, cheeky, serious, determined. He didn't necessarily need to bed her to feel satisfied. A night in the company of an intelligent woman, dinner, perhaps a dance, that was deeply enriching for him.

He hadn't felt he was flirting with Agate, he certainly hadn't been intending to invite her into his bed. Not when Lizzie was currently filling it. He thought that would have been clear. So he had been frustrated and a little angry this evening at her behavior.

She had been so sweet, so enthusiastic, quietly initiating most of their encounters lately. He'd only been playing a silly game with her tonight, thinking perhaps she wanted to be taken care of. He hadn't realized just how sensitive she'd been feeling and when he had, it was too late. He'd left the bedroom assuming she was having a tantrum over him having another female friend in his life. He'd thought he was going to have to chastise her for it in the morning. Of _course_ , he wasn't going to sleep with other women while Lizzie filled the spot that she did but she couldn't have it all her way. He wouldn't permit her to decide who his associates were based on their gender.

Apparently, she'd had good reason to be feeling unsettled. If Agate thought he'd been open to an invitation to her bed, then Lizzie had probably been of the same understanding.

He'd have to set her straight in the morning.

Thoughtfully, he palmed the access card from his jacket pocket to his wallet. He'd have it returned to Agate by one of his staff. Perhaps they wouldn't stay another night as planned. Lizzie needed stability. He should take her back to Clarens, their home.

He wandered tiredly through the suite, his eyes lighting on a decanter of scotch that currently sat invitingly on the sideboard under a huge gilt edged mirror. He sighed, picking it up along with a tumbler and made his way down the hall to the master bedroom.

He didn't notice that the door to Lizzie’s room had been open just a crack during his conversation with Agate. It was firmly shut by the time he made his way past her room.

 

* * *

 

In the dark, where every noise is magnified, Lizzie lay her ear against the door, listening to her father’s footfalls on the carpet as he made his way to the master bedroom. He barely made any sound at all but he didn't need a heavy step for her to hear him. She heard the clink of a glass and the click of his door as he closed it.

For the first time, she didn't want him to come and comfort her. She didn't understand the feelings tearing up her chest. All she knew was that they were terrible and she wanted it to stop. She didn't want to feel this way.

Was it because of Agate? Why couldn't she identify what she was feeling? It was all so confusing and she didn't know what to do about it.

She'd run away.

Impulsively, she leaped for the bedside lamp switch, illuminating her room with a low light. She tore about, throwing clothes into her backpack and pulling on a tank top and a pair of white capri pants. She'd leave her large suitcase behind and just take the smaller bag. She had to move quickly and go out the back way. He had Artie in the lobby and another two men outside so she'd have to figure out a way to get past them unnoticed.

Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she turned the light off and crept carefully from her room, opening the front door slowly and slipping out. It was the easiest thing. She felt free almost immediately, though she had yet to get past the security downstairs. She didn't stop to examine the new feeling of exultation that flared in her chest, she just ran, opening the fire door and pulling the fire alarm for good measure. That would leave them confused and occupied enough for her to slip away.

The harsh and urgent sound of the alarm faded behind her as she melted into the small crowd of gawking guests in the lobby. It was easy to move unobtrusively. Her d-, Sam had taught her how.

She wasn't used to being out so late, particularly not in such a touristy town as this one. Lights flashed, music blared from bars and expensive fast cars whizzed past her, all clamoring to distract her from what she'd done.

What _had_ she done? She couldn't take this back. When her dad found she'd gone in the morning he'd know that she had wanted to run away and had done it. Would he come after her? Would he tell Agate what she'd done and laugh about it with her while she wasn't in the room?

The thought stung. She didn't want to think about it anymore. Without really concentrating on where she was going, she found herself walking away from the esplanade, further inland, where more residential housing and less and less hotels marked the landscape. She'd walked for twenty minutes by the time she came across a park with a small playground. It was partially lit and there were two boys sitting in the sandpit, listening to music from a boom box, talking and laughing amongst themselves.

They didn't look much older than her. She felt so lonely, so trapped and she didn't even know why, but her feet did the walking before her brain caught up and she found herself in front of them quite suddenly.

“Bonsoir,” she said tentatively, wondering already if she'd made a mistake as she took in their surprised faces.

“Hey, yeah, American right?” Said the shorter one after a slight pause.

“Yeah,” she said eagerly, realizing with a sudden rush of pleasure that these guys were American too.

“I'm Doug,” said the short one. “And this is Brent.”

“I'm Liz,” she said, “mind if I join you?”

They glanced at each other and then down at the open bottle of rum they had between them.

“Yeah, that's cool,” said Brent, grinning at her. “We’re just here on vacation with our parents. They're at the casino tonight so we thought we’d go and hang and drink where there aren't any parents around, you know?”

She felt so  _good_. These guys were exactly who she needed to meet with. They both gave her big, goofy grins as she settled herself in the sandpit next to them.

Brent offered her a swig from the bottle of rum and she took it, trying to act as casual as possible, taking a careful swig, swallowing as it burnt its way down her throat.

“So like, where are you from, Liz?” Asked Doug, taking a swig from the bottle.

“Nebraska,” she said cheerfully, already feeling a warmth in her limbs. “You?”

“We’re from San Francisco,” he said, nodding to Brent. “Brent's my annoying older brother.”

The two boys guffawed at each other, rolling their eyes and exchanging a few jibes. It was so normal. She felt normal again. When had she stopped feeling that? Why would she miss it so much? She didn't know but the second swig of rum went down a little easier, and the third and fourth.

They asked her about her family. Where were they? Did they know she was out by herself?

“Oh, I'm taking off,” she said casually. “I'm thinking about getting a job here. I don't need parents.”

The boys looked at each other uncertainly. She felt a stab of anger at that. They didn't understand. They had parents.

Her brow furrowed. What was she thinking? Raymond was her dad. Even if…

Well.

“Have a fight with them huh?” Asked Brent sympathetically.

She relaxed. “Yeah, my dad...he’s met up with an ex and I dunno. It's just weird.”

Brent nodded. “Man that sucks. Can you go live with your mom? I mean, if your dad’s girlfriend is a bitch-”

“She's not his girlfriend,” Lizzie said quickly, offended and alarmed by the thought. “He just met up with her.” She snorted. “She's probably stalking him or something, I dunno.”

She knew that wasn't true.

She also knew the other things she told them were lies too. But it was wonderfully freeing, to be another person in her head for a little while.

“...so my mom’s a wildlife conservationist and she's away from home a lot. She does a whole heap of protests out on the ocean, you know, anti whaling stuff? She's pretty cool. And my dad...he's a, he's a physiotherapist, for kids who've been in accidents.” She pressed her lips together and took the bottle of rum as it was offered to her again.

“Oh wow, our folks aren't so interesting. Our parents are both teachers. Mom works at a college and dad teaches at our school actually. Kinda sucks, having your dad teach you history,” said Brent, grinning at her in the ghostly light of the street lamps.

“So, you guys must find it hard to get up to stuff then huh? With your dad always looking over your shoulder.”

Brent and Doug grinned. They were two years apart, they'd said, Doug was fifteen and Brent was seventeen but it seemed like they were twins. They had the same good looks, laughed at the same things and their mannerisms almost seemed synchronized.

She wished she had a sister.

“We have our ways,” said Brent, his eyes sparkling.

“Do you have girlfriends?” She said impulsively. “I bet that must be hard to keep separate from the parents. Can't even date someone at school without your dad all up in your business.”

“Nah, I have an after school job. I date the chicks there, and like, Doug has a steady girlfriend at school. Dad doesn't seem to mind.”

Cosmo magazine said to bite your lip to attract a boy. She recalled the article now as she gently chewed her bottom lip. She tilted her head towards Brent, running her tongue over her lips. “So you're steady with someone then?”

He eyed her, his open and friendly expression turning into slight wariness. “How old are you, Liz?”

“Sixteen,” she lied glibly.

His face cleared. “Oh right. For some reason I thought you were younger.”

She brought her knees up to her chest, stirring the sand around her. It was gritty and getting everywhere, even in her underpants. Her head was pleasantly fuzzy. She barely felt any regretful ache in her chest at all. These boys were making her feel important, asking her about herself, sharing their alcohol with her. It was an uncomfortable place to be, seated in the middle of a sandpit, past midnight but she was happy there. She wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Which is why she was so disappointed when Doug glanced at his watch.

“Dude, we gotta get back to the hotel. Mom and dad will be home soon.”

“Yeah.” Brent looked over at Lizzie. “Hey, so where are you staying tonight? I can walk you there if it's around here.” He looked around as if expecting her house to pop up out of the sandpit.

Her face fell. “Nah, it's okay. I'm at least twenty minutes from here. I'm over on the esplanade.”

Brent whistled. “Man, your dad must make bucket loads as a physiotherapist. That's an expensive area. But I'm afraid we don't have time to get you home and get back to the hotel. Our mom will raise hell if she finds out we've been drinking. Sorry,” he said looking guilty.

For a minute she had forgotten that she had run away. Then it all came back in an unpleasant rush. “That's okay, I don't know if I will go back just yet anyway.”

“Um, well, maybe you should call your mom? She could come and get you. Even if she is away I'm sure she'd come if she knew.”

Lizzie's heart lurched on hearing Brent's kind concern. It would be nice to have a mom. To have someone soft and cuddly to cry with and to be held by. She swallowed painfully, remembering how Fabiana had melted her defenses with one sincere hug.

“Look, I'm fine. You boys should get back.” She took one last swig from the bottle of rum, handing it to Doug as she stood up, feeling a rush of dizziness. She giggled. “I might just go for a swim in the pool. Our apartment has a rooftop pool you know. It wouldn't be so bad for my dad to wonder where I was.”

Both boys mouths were in the shape of a big O. Their alarm was palpable and funny too, the way they had identical looks of horror on their faces. There was no mistaking these two for anything but brothers.

“Just kidding,” she said quickly. “I’ll make up my mind about what I'm gonna do. But I won't go swimming. Her mouth twitched. “I'm pretty drunk aren't I?”

“Yeah,” they said uneasily in unison.

She giggled softly to herself as they separated. Walking along in the quiet darkness, her mind completely fuzzed, she let her emotions take over and talk to her. She hadn't truly been letting herself listen to her feelings for a while.

She felt waves of confusing anger, molten and savage, rising up in her breast. Her hands clenched and her fingernails dug painfully into the flesh of her palms. She didn't know why but the great thing about being so damn drunk was that she didn't care about the why. She just felt.

Then came sadness and Sam’s face floated through her mind. She missed him. She had been furiously insisting to herself that she didn't but she did. The intensity of it caused her to stumble. She sank into a patch of grass next to the sidewalk, heedless of the grass stains on her knees as she wept into her hands. She couldn't bear the idea of his rejection. Like a gangrenous wound, it had been festering in her until it found its outlet now, on a quiet side street in the back end of this glitzy tourist town.

She laughed sourly at her own wretchedness. Sam had always called her a tough kid but he was wrong. She was so needy and clingy, no wonder Raymond was feeling trapped. When someone as beautiful and full of fun as Agate came flitting past,  _of_ _course_ he was going to want that.

She stood tiredly, her body feeling somehow lighter. She had cried out all the tears she had tonight. She already knew what she needed to do. There was nowhere else to go. She had been so stupid to think running away would solve anything.

But it had been nice to be someone else for just a few hours.

  



	27. Chapter 27

The walk back seemed so much shorter. She didn't feel prepared. It hadn't occurred to her that her dad would have been alerted to her disappearance that night because of the fire alarm she had pulled.

She felt stupid.

Two of his security guards were steadily combing either side of the street, their heads swiveling from side to side, examining the faces of everyone passing them and any side alleys they happened to pass.

She identified Marc on the same side of the street as she was, just as he saw her.  He was her least favourite of her dad's security team. He never spoke to her.

“Hey!” He shouted. “I've got her!”

He leapt into action, sprinting toward her so suddenly that she stood for a moment, stunned at the ferocity and tension in his face and body. He cannoned into her, taking her down onto the pavement.

Breathless but unhurt, she gasped, her hands scrabbling at the pavement, trying to get out from under him. He was a ton of muscle and she could barely move.

“Don't move,” he spat, pulling her arms behind her back and hoisting her to her feet.

“Oh my god, let go of me! You're embarrassing me,” she hissed as club patrons spilled onto the pavement in front of a nightclub a few yards in front of them.

A whole bunch of people stood gawking as he shoved her ahead of him, her hands still restrained. “Move,” he responded sourly. “You're in big trouble with Mr Reddington.”

He marched her down the street and through the lobby of the hotel, still quite crowded from the earlier false alarm. He only released her arms when she was in the elevator, still holding tightly to her elbow.

“Let go of me!” She pulled her elbow away, walking ahead of him into the hall.  She'd rather walk through the door of the apartment by herself than be dragged through it. But Marc seemed intent on refusing her any dignity.

“Someone needs to give you a clip over the ear,” he growled. “Did you think that you might be putting people's employment in jeopardy, running away like that?”

“If you get fired I'm sure it'll be for something stupid you can think up yourself,” she sneered, too worked up and drunk to care about the fairness of her reply.

She only saw a whir of movement before she felt the stinging slap across the side of her head.

She clapped a hand to her ear, stunned at Marc’s actions.

“Marc!”

It was Artie. He'd just appeared outside of the suite, the door clicking shut behind him. Had he seen?

“Elizabeth,” he barked, his eyes flying to the face of the guard behind her, his expression one of horror. “Marc, what the hell?”

She heard him from behind her, sounding grumpy and defensive. “She wouldn't stop kicking and making a fuss. It's her own fault.”

Artie’s face grew grim. “Not good enough. You can expect a severance package from the boss. He won't need your services again after tonight.”

“Can you do that?” Slurred Lizzie in bewilderment. She hadn't expected that others would get into trouble for hurting her when she was the one running away. She'd expected her dad’s cold fury maybe. Not Artie’s hot anger on her behalf.

He nodded jerkily, staring the other guard down. “If a grown man trained as a bodyguard can't bring back a teenage girl who's having a tantrum without _slapping_ her as if he's some common hoodlum, he has no business being in this line of work.” He paused, glancing toward the door and back at Marc. “Go downstairs and wait in the lobby for me. I'll need to go in and explain _your_ actions.”

She heard Marc’s indignant hiss but didn't take much notice. “I wasn't having a tantrum,” she said sullenly. “I just didn't want to be manhandled.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “Are you going inside? I can restrain you pretty effectively and cart you in there without hurting you. I don't want to do it though.”

She shouldered her way past him into the suite, marching through the door and into the living room where she saw her dad on the phone, pacing the floor. He looked up at her, his mouth falling open in shock. She hadn't noticed the stains on her white pants or the sand sticking to her legs and feet. She looked down now, an inappropriate giggle bubbling to her lips

She must look a mess to be getting a reaction like that from him.

“She's been found,” he said tersely into the phone. “Pull back, she's been found,” he said again, closing the flip phone with a snap.

“What happened?” He asked her.

She was silent, not even looking at him, her chest heaving with sullen anger. Her head was so muddled, she wasn't even really sure why she was feeling angry but dammit, she was going to cling to that anger.

“Marc was unacceptably rough with her sir,” Artie volunteered, sounding troubled. “I came across him slapping her. I think...I believe she's been drinking. She smells of it.

He was quiet. She shifted on her feet. She wasn't going to be the one to break the uncomfortable silence. All she could hear in the room was his breathing and hers. He sounded short of breath and she didn't understand why. _He_ hadn't been dragged down the street like a common criminal.

“My daughter,” he said heavily, “is _never_ to come home to me in this condition again. Do you understand me Artie?”

The big man swallowed audibly. “Yes sir, I've already sacked Marc. He's downstairs. He won't be working with the team again.”

Her dad nodded. “Elizabeth can run away every day as far as I'm concerned and you will bring her back to me pristine, understood?” He continued, giving her disheveled appearance a scathing glance.

“Yes sir, I'll make sure the team is clear on it.”

“You can go,” he said, turning to leave the room.

And suddenly she was alone. Artie had left the suite and her dad had retreated down the hall into the main bathroom. What did he want her to do then? Was he giving her the silent treatment?

She waited awkwardly for a few moments, unsure of what to do. But then a hot rush of tears welled up inside of her, trickling down her cheek. Why had he left her here? Was she just supposed to go back to bed? She was starting to feel really sore and stiff, her shoulders hurt from Marc’s rough handling. She supposed she should go to her bedroom and get cleaned up.

She made a move towards the bedroom but was stopped in the hall by her dad. He lifted up a fluffy towel. “You're filthy and you smell like a distillery. You need a shower. Now.”

She stared at him. He hadn't said anything about her running away yet. Was he going to? Her lower lip trembled, try as she might to keep her features still, she couldn't help it, she felt her whole face crumple.

He acted as though he couldn't see her distress, crowding her further down the hall towards the bathroom. “You need a warm shower, come on now Lizzie.”

There wasn't a good reason not to follow him into the bathroom. She watched as he turned the tap on.The spray of the water hit the shower recess with a loud hiss. She jumped a little.

Looking up at him guiltily, she asked, “can I do this by myself?”

“Take your clothes off. I'm afraid I'm not leaving you alone in the condition you're in.”

Slowly and reluctantly, she pulled her shirt over her head, feeling goosebumps on her skin as she did so. She was embarrassed to undress in front of him.

He made a noise in his throat as he reached a hand out to touch her face. She couldn't help shying away from his fingers. Why was he making this so awkward?

“I'm not going to hurt you, you have a handprint on your cheek, I just want a look at it,” he said patiently.

“I don't want you to…” she trailed off, unsure what it was that she didn't want him to do. To touch her? That wasn't it surely.

She snuck a look at him. His face was tight. “Has this been about Agate?” He asked quietly.

She shook her head, hesitantly peeling off her jeans, still avoiding his gaze as much as she could.

“Why don't I believe you?” He sighed. “Take your underwear off and step into the shower.” He held a soft washcloth out to her as she did as he asked.

A burning heat glowed in her cheeks and she was confused at how dirty she felt, standing naked in front of him. He had always made her feel lovely about her body before. All she could think about now though was how desirable Agate must be to him.

Warm water coursed over her body in rivulets. It was the perfect temperature but she still shivered as she rubbed her arms. He was standing there, just watching her through the glass of the shower. It wasn't even hot enough to allow her the privacy of a steam fogged screen. It was humiliating.

After she'd cleaned herself up, she stepped from the shower and was met with a big, fluffy towel and his arms gently surrounding her. He guided her into his bedroom. She made no comment on the choice of room, just sitting drooped on the bed.

He rummaged around in his suitcase, pulling out one of his own sleep shirts. “Arms up,” he said in a honeyed voice. She put her arms up automatically and he pulled the shirt over her head.

Why wasn't he more angry? She didn't understand.

Only when she was tucked between the sheets did he say anything. “In a few hours, as soon as it's light, we’ll fly home. For now, I want you to lie back and get some rest. I'll put a basin next to the bed. If you feel sick and you can't make it to the bathroom, you know where it is.” He stood and scooped up the towel, making for the door without looking at her. “We can talk about this later,” he added.

“Can we talk about it now?” She asked impulsively. She couldn't bear an uneasy silence all the way home.

Turning slowly to face her, his eyebrows drew together in creases, his green eyes, so changeable in different light looked at her with such concern. “Tell me something, are you happy Lizzie? Is there anything I have neglected to do to-”

“Do you really love me?” She interrupted quickly, before she lost her nerve. It was impossible to stop her hands from twisting together tightly, the thumb of one hand rubbing hard against the scar on the other

Her question had clearly shocked him. He stood still in the centre of the room, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

“Lizzie, I love you more than anything in the world,” he breathed, an unmistakably desperate tinge to his voice. He came forward to kneel by the bed and took her hand, forcing it to his lips. “Words can't express how much I love you, my darling girl.”

She wanted to cry again. How could she explain how she was feeling? She didn't even understand it herself.

“You love her too though.”

He shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “I _thought_ that was what this was about. Were you listening at keyholes tonight, sweetheart? It might interest you to know that I have not the slightest preference for spending time with Agate when I have you right by me. And I _certainly_ am not in love with her. I only thought she might make a diverting companion for you. I was wrong, and for that I apologize, my baby, my darling girl.”

He rose, his hand still clutching hers and slipped into the bed, fully clothed and all. Her heart was slowly easing at his words. It was good to know, so good to hear. He loved her, he didn't prefer Agate to her.

She snuggled closer into him, her cheek resting against his, feeling content again. Then a new thought assailed her. “But what if...what if you get a girlfriend,” she whispered.

He was silent for a moment, taking all of this in. Perhaps he hadn't really considered it, involving a woman in his life right now. “I think we have a nice little family, just as we are, don't you?” He said, lazily stroking his thumb across her cheek.

Smiling tremulously, she allowed him to gently hold her and kiss her forehead. “I love you,” she said softly, still a little shy each time she said it to him.

“I love you darling,” he said, humming into her hair as she drifted off, exhausted by the night's events.


	28. Chapter 28

“There will be no severance package,” said Red in a forbidding tone of voice. “What flight is he on?”  
  
Artie stood to attention, his eyes darting warily over his employer’s face. He cleared his throat. “Ah, he took a red eye to London. I believe he was catching a connecting flight to Vancouver.”  
  
Red considered. He was a demanding employer. He realized with a twinge that the qualities he looked for in his security team may no longer be completely appropriate for the care of his daughter. Marcus was a hired thug, chosen for his brawn not his brains. That was no excuse for him though.  
  
“Who do we have in London? Roberts?”  
  
“Yes sir,” Artie bobbed his head in acknowledgement.  
  
Swallowing, he took his time before he said the words. “Have Roberts detain him at Heathrow. I want him taken care of.”  
  
The man had _struck_ his daughter. He knew quite well that he was overreacting, that he was not himself and hadn't been for some time. But the knowledge wasn't enough to halt his thirst for blood.  
  
He felt the muscles in his face twitch as Artie left the room to make arrangements.  
  
If it hadn't been clear before, it was now. No one would raise a hand to Elizabeth and live.  
  
He blinked once slowly as he forced his shoulders to relax. Lizzie was safely upstairs, nursing the last of her hangover. He thought briefly of joining her. There was nothing so exhausting as being a parent of a teenager. But he didn't wish to disturb her fitful sleep. She had school in the morning.  
  
He settled himself on the couch in his study. It would do. For some reason the thought of using Lizzie’s bed while she slept in his made him uncomfortable. He grimaced at his foolishness but made no move to remedy it, preferring to indulge the fanciful image he had in his head of the sanctity of his child’s bedroom.  
  
Just as he was starting to drift into a semblance of restfulness, to his great annoyance, the cellphone in his pants pocket began to vibrate, an insistent buzzing that he knew he could not ignore. He had been expecting a call from Luli but not until later that night. He answered.  
  
“Reddington,” he spoke into the phone crisply.  
  
“Sir,” said Clive Perrett, a junior in his business. “I've arrived in Lausanne with an update regarding the Rockwell deal. I'd like to report in person. The deal has been reached,” Clive said brightly.  
  
Pausing to parse the man’s words, he spoke slowly. “Clive, I'm impressed. However, I believe Luli had that meeting scheduled for this evening. What happened?”  
  
“Luli was indisposed. I've taken care of it sir. I believe you'll find the deal to your liking. May I report in person?”  
  
Thoughts and questions darted through his mind like lightning. It seemed off but it wasn't the first time a stripling had taken a risk to get themselves noticed. It could be that or it could be something more sinister.  
  
“I'll have Artie meet you in town and bring you to the house. Oh, and please try not to be offended about the increased security measures. You'll agree to be drugged or blindfolded. There are trade-offs to having a stable base. You can understand my need for secrecy, I'm sure.”  
  
As he flipped the phone shut, there was a sudden commotion, a series of unpleasant yowls coming from the window of his study. He crossed the room and opened the shutters, eying Lola who was sulking in the flower beds. Judging from the streak of tortoiseshell lightning crossing the farmyard, Lola had been defending her territory.  
  
“Vicious little thing,” he muttered, half amused at Lizzie's precious pet.  
  
The cat didn't distract him for long however, his mind going over Clive’s words again, dissecting them and rearranging them like a puzzle. The pieces didn't fit. Something wasn't right. There was nothing acutely unusual about one of his men showing up with little to no notice. Luli and Newton did it now and then, although they were careful to come to the house while Lizzie was in school.  
  
But this along with Perrett’s forwardness in rearranging the meeting smelt like a potential betrayal.  
  
He alerted his team briefly in low tones in the hallway. Artie left immediately to meet with Perrett and he called in two more of his team from the village. Four men in all, plus Artie, if something wasn't right.  
  
Within the hour he had Perrett in front of him in his living room, blinking owlishly in the light after the dark hood had been removed from his head.  
  
“Perhaps you'd like to tell me why this was so important that you needed to be here in person?” He asked the young man pleasantly. He moved to the couch, seating himself comfortably and crossing his legs in a show of relaxed carelessness. This was _his_ domain.  
  
“Rockwell insisted on meeting with you personally to ensure he's really dealing with Raymond Reddington. His schedule only allowed for a meeting tomorrow in Brussels. I've been sent to ensure your travel arrangements proceed smoothly. And to accompany you...if you would prefer me to,” said Clive confidently.  
  
“Forgive me my slowness, Clive. As you can see, my sojourn in the countryside has dulled my wits. I thought you said that a deal had been reached,” he said, smiling gently at his young employee.  
  
He flicked a hand signal to Artie. The head of his security was well trained. He saw the subtle indication and moved unobtrusively from the room, returning in moments with two more of the team. They immediately spread out, covering the entrance and the window.  
  
“Oh, it has,” Clive assured him smoothly. “I took the initiative. I was approached by Rockwell’s man. They wanted to step up the time of the meeting. Luli wasn't available so I arranged it with just myself. Everything went without a hitch. Luli is finalizing the details now. They do require a face to face meeting with you though, sir. This time tomorrow. It's as simple as that,” he said brightly. “It shouldn't take long at all.” He paused, seemingly just noticing that the room had suddenly become a little more crowded.  
  
Poor Clive. Red wondered what the motive had been. Clive wasn't married and had no children. It was possible his parents had been threatened but he hadn't been in service long and from what he knew of the man, it was far more likely to have been a substantial amount of money offered.  
  
Almost certain of the man’s betrayal, he still did his due diligence in confirming it before he took the man apart.  
  
“As simple as that, hmm?” Red repeated softly. “And when did you inform Luli of the change of plans?” He asked, the same gentle tone still in his voice.  
  
Clive visibly blanched, clearly sensing that his story had not been swallowed as smoothly as he'd hoped. “I-I didn't until after the meeting...sir. But she approved, I can assure you. She's organising the transfer of goods as we speak. All they want is assurances that they're really dealing with Raymond Reddington.”  
  
“I see,” he said grimly, his disappointment growing. If the man sought to extricate himself by sinking further into lies, he was a bigger fool than he realized. With deliberate movements, he pulled his cell phone out, flipping it open and pressing the speed dial for Luli.  
  
“Sir! She'll be uncontactable just now. Rockwell doesn't allow phones or wires in the compound. He's arranged to bring Luli to Brussels as...as a courtesy to you.”  
  
Ignoring the man’s urgent assurances, he waited for the phone to go straight to voicemail before flipping it shut with a snap. He sighed, irritated at the situation. “I've always had the conceit to believe myself a generous employer. Tell me, what were you offered that could make this all worth it? It's a flimsy story at best. At worst, it's insulting.”  
  
Sweat was now appearing on Clive’s forehead like morning dew. His head swiveled either side as two of the team stepped up behind him, a heavy hand on either shoulder.  
  
“Listen,” he begged, his voice raised shrilly, “I'm just trying to do the best job I can for you. I thought you'd like me taking the initiative. I just wanted to earn my way up in the organization.”  
  
“You continue to disappoint me,” said Red testily. “If you wanted mercy, you should have tried for honesty some time before now.” He jerked his head at Artie. “Have him taken down to the lake. Put him in the hull of the boat and take it out. I'll bring Brimley in overnight. He’ll be interrogated first thing tomorrow morning.”  
  
“No! Listen to me!” Screamed Clive, his face pouring with sweat. He struggled ineffectively against his captors, two muscular men, thick as trees. “Listen! Luli is dead if you kill me. If you don't appear at that meeting tomorrow she's-”  
  
“Damn,” cursed Red violently, looking again at Artie. “It'll have to be now. There's no time for Brimley. Artie, go into the kitchen and lay down some garbage bags. There's rope and duct tape in the shed.”  
  
Artie rushed to obey amidst the desperate pleas of a man who knew he didn't have much keeping him alive.  
  
“I'll tell you where she is, I'll tell you everything. They threatened me-”  
  
“I'm not interested in your justification for this, Clive. Your hazard pay is more than adequate for your role in this organization and you know very well that I take care of my own. So yes, you are going to tell me everything. And you're going to suffer as you do.” He smiled an ugly smile at his captive. “You'd better hope Luli is found unharmed, because I'm going to keep you alive until I do find her and anything that happens to her, will happen to you, threefold. I hope we’re clear.”  
  
“Dad?”  
  
Every head in the room snapped towards that voice, the confused, sleepy voice of a child. Staring at her, horrified, he couldn't _believe_ he'd been so caught up in business that he'd completely forgotten where he was. Ten years of living a life that required immense resilience and flexibility, to be ready for anything, anywhere and only a few months of living a family life. She hadn't even entered his mind.  
  
“Help me!” The disgusting worm cried from his position on his knees. He stumbled forward, towards Lizzie. She backed away, fright blooming on her face.  
  
“That's enough,” Red said sharply. “Lizzie, go upstairs, now. Close your door and don't come down until I come for you.”  
  
She didn't move, her eyes as round as dinner plates, her face pinched with horror, fixed on the man restrained in the centre of the room, sniveling, his hands outstretched to her.  
  
“Kid, don't go, please!” He turned back to Red. “She's not leaving. She's your kid isn't she? You won't do this in front of her.”  
  
Cursing, he barreled across the room, taking Lizzie by the arm and herding her out and up the stairs with brief and harried instruction to his men to hold Clive until he came down again.  
  
“What's happening? Dad?” She clung to him, not resisting at all, but not letting go as he attempted to deposit her in her room. “Don't go down there, tell me what's happening,” she cried, her arms wrapping around his waist like an octopus.  
  
His mouth had gone so dry. Guilt burned at him as he pushed her down onto her bed. “You need to stay here, do not leave your bedroom. Do you understand?”  
  
She nodded tearfully. “Please don't...please don't do anything…” Her voice broke and she made a heartbreaking choking noise in her throat.  
  
He stroked her cheek gently. “It's going to be okay. I don't want you to worry, Lizzie. Just do as you're told and everything will be fine.”  
  
He bent down to give her a swift kiss on her forehead and turned to leave the room, pausing to push the play button on her stereo. The jarring sound of her favorite pop group filled the room. He winced but for once forebore to complain about the noise as he closed her door with a gentle click, choosing not to look back at her. He hated himself a little for that. But he didn't want to see the fear in her face.  
  
With heavy steps and an even heavier heart, he descended the stairs to the kitchen to deal with the now urgent problem that had forced itself upon him.  
  
The kitchen had been well prepped. Dark green garbage bags were spread out upon the floor and Artie had been industrious in his absence, securing the prisoner to a chair and laying out a number of common kitchen implements on the bench. An assortment of knives, all finely sharpened, a meat tenderizer, a pair of scissors, a screwdriver and the poker from the living room fireplace.  
  
By themselves, they weren't particularly menacing but the entire scene was certainly set up to instigate fear. Once a good amount of fear was running rampant through the man, the battle was more than half over.  
  
Just to be sure though, he selected the meat tenderizer, nodding at Artie who pulled a wooden chopping block between Clive’s knee and his tightly restrained hand. The man had clenched his fist tightly, his eyes squeezed shut and a low, steady moan keening from his throat.  
  
“You'd better lay your hand flat, Clive. This is going to hurt but it's better than pulverizing a knuckle.”  
  
This was work. He had done things far worse than this and would probably do far worse again. He didn't enjoy it, he wasn't a sadistic man. But he did what had to be done.  
  
Ruthlessly, he thrust his daughter's face from his mind. Thoughts of Elizabeth had no place in moments such as this.  


* * *

  
Hot water cascaded over his head and shoulders as he stood in the shower. Meticulously, he scrubbed his hands and arms up to his elbows with a harsh soap, like a doctor prepping for surgery. He wanted none of his world staining him when he went in to see Elizabeth.  
  
The interrogation had been thorough and methodical. Clive hadn't known where they were keeping Luli in Rockwell’s compound but she was there and wouldn't in fact, be meeting them in Brussels as his former employee had tried to convince him. He'd sent a lethal team into the compound only an hour ago and was confident that if Luli was still alive, she would be retrieved.  
  
He regretted the loss of another employee. Artie had taken him into the shed and put a bullet in his head while he called one of Kate Kaplan’s associates in the area to clean. Stefan Galafrio was Kate’s personal recommendation and he fully expected his house and life would be back to normal shortly.  
  
But then there was Elizabeth. He closed his eyes just thinking of her. Piercing blue eyes and chocolate brown hair passed through his mind. His heart squeezed unbearably. What had he done? It seemed as though the longer he had her with him, the more damage he inflicted.  
  
His intentions were good. He wanted her to be happy, to know that her father loved her. He wanted a simple home life. He'd wanted that for as long as he could remember. When he'd entered into the navy, he'd been newly married. Everyone had said he was too young. They'd told his high school sweetheart the same. But neither of them listened. With the birth of their daughter, he thought he had achieved everything he could possibly want in life. He'd had numerous promotions by the time his eldest child could walk and talk and he was on track to become Admiral before he was forty.  
  
He blew out a heavy breath, his shoulders slumping just a little. There must be some strange streak of self-loathing that ran through the Reddingtons. Because just when he had everything his heart desired, a burning itch to sabotage always arose. He'd had affairs, effectively destroying his marriage. And now this. He had his younger child safe and close. Now should be a time to establish normalcy, to create beautiful memories for himself and Elizabeth.  
  
Self-recriminations circled at the edges of his mind like jackals but he warded them away, turning the faucet off with a vicious wrench.  
  
He would _not_ fall prey to self-doubt and weakness. He acknowledged to himself that he had broken her in a way. But it was also he that was keeping her together. He just had to keep her close to him, she needed him. It would be okay.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand: so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him. ~ 1 Samuel 16:23

* * *

 

 

Her eyes were wide open, she didn't think she could have closed them if she wanted to. She stared up at the ceiling, lying flat on her bed, wondering if anyone had dusted the light fittings in a while. The housekeeper did the cleaning but it looked like it was getting to be time for a heavy clean. When Lizzie was younger, she used to help her grandma clean house over the summer vacation. It was fun. They made a game of it, pulling out the contents of the linen closet to air in the sunshine and creating tents with the big quilts that grandma had handmade.

She remembered it now with an ache in her chest. Grandma made jam once a year, using the raspberries and blackberries from her own patch down in the garden. Lizzie had helped to pick them, getting purple stains all over her clothes, no matter how careful she was. Aunt June always scolded her but her dad and grandma would only laugh as she crept into the house with buckets full of berries and a very purple mouth.

“You're a feral child,” her dad always said with love and laughter in his voice.

Her eyes pricked with tears now, thinking of Sam’s homely face, his messy hair and the way his eyes would narrow when she tried to get away with staying up past bedtime or watching a scary movie. She used to complain to friends at school all the time about how strict her dad was. He never let her do _anything_.

It was funny how she was beginning to miss that about him.

There was a knock at the door but her dad didn't wait for her to answer, slipping into her room and closing the door behind him. She looked sideways at him.

"Lizzie, I have no words," he said, his voice deep and hoarse with regret. "That should _never_ have happened." He crossed the room to stand above her over the bed.

"What?" She said, ducking away from his hand as he leant forward to place it on her head. "What shouldn't have happened? I don't even-I don't understand what just happened. Did you-did they..."   
  
She knew that he was a criminal. She'd grown up with a criminal. Her dad had a couple of friends, swindlers like him who would come and go from wherever they lived but they were never threatening, they'd never made her fearful. She thought it was all the same thing but tonight had shown her that it certainly wasn't. White collar crime was a world away from...whatever this was. And she was afraid.

He grimaced painfully. “That man...you need to understand that he has put a young woman who works for me in danger. He betrayed me for no better reason than money. But you never should have seen that. I should have been more circumspect. Lizzie, are you alright?”

Terribly numb, she just stared blankly at him. There wasn't room in her head to process this. She watched as he sat next to her on the bed, his hands stretched out to take hers. He didn't look at her as he stroked her scar slowly. He spoke quietly, telling her about the deal he'd attempted to broker with a previously hostile cartel, how he'd hoped a peace could be made in Eastern Europe but to his dismay they'd used the opportunity to try and destroy him.

“Where is he now?” She asked throatily, afraid of his answer.

“Gone.”

“Did you...did you kill him?”

He looked at her then, his face unbearably grim. “Do you remember when I asked you to trust me? You promised me, sweetheart.”

She gripped his arm with both hands. “Dad, _did you kill him?”_

His silence was answer enough. She removed her hands from his arm, shivering a little. Finally, she was starting to feel again. A choked sob wrenched itself from her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut and cried, barely noticing his grunt of anguish, uncaring that he gathered her up in an attempt to comfort her.

She wasn't sure that she wanted to be comforted.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, the sound of birds in the trees behind the house woke her early. She listened to them for some time before opening her eyes. The sunshine peeked through the slit in the curtain, streaming into her room, casting a beam of light onto the carpet.

He had cradled her in his arms last night until she fell asleep, exhausted with tears. She didn't remember him leaving her room but he wasn't with her now. She wanted him.

Throwing on her bathrobe, she crept out into the hallway and down the stairs. The hiss of the fry pan and clink of kitchen utensils reached her ears.

“Dad? What time is it?” She asked in the doorway to the kitchen.

He looked up from over the stove, flipping bacon in the pan. Checking his watch he said, “eight thirty.”

“I'm late for school.”

“You don't have to go today. I've called the school.”

Swallowing hard, she moved into the kitchen, observing her dad prepare bacon and scrambled eggs, expertly flipping them onto plates and placing them on the cosy kitchen table.

“Breakfast?” He said lightly, a hint of nervous enquiry in his voice.

She silently slipped into her chair, picking up a knife and fork. She was starving. She hadn't eaten any dinner last night. The events of the previous evening had been enough to ruin any appetite.

She shoveled a forkful of fluffy egg into her mouth. “If I grew up and worked for you-”

“You wouldn't. I won't permit it.”

“But if I did,” she insisted. “If I did and for some reason I did something awful...like that guy, would you kill me?”

His knife and fork dropped to the table with a clatter. He bowed his head over his plate. Regret smote her. She hadn't meant to-

“Dad! Daddy I'm sorry,” she cried softly, leaving her chair to wrap her arms around his neck. “I didn't mean it, I'm sorry.”

He pulled her onto his lap, his lips moving over her face, as if in silent prayer. He didn't say anything, just held her, stroking her.

“I'm sorry,” she said again, terrified that she'd caused a breach between them. He was all she had. If he did things that frightened her and left an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach, well at least she could be sure that he loved her and would never let anything bad happen to her.

Finally he spoke. “You need to eat,” he said, lifting his fork and scooping up some scrambled egg. He fed her like a baby, one forkful at a time. She opened her mouth obediently. It was strange, sitting on his lap and being fed breakfast as though she had no motor skills of her own. But just then, if he'd asked her to stand on her head, she would have. Anything to make him happy. She hated to see him upset and vulnerable.

“This weekend didn't work out so well,” he said. “I thought you might like a father daughter day. We could try again. Nothing so exciting as the French Riviera. Perhaps popcorn and a movie on the couch?”

She nodded, her mouth full of food that somehow wouldn't go down. There was a lump in her throat that she swallowed forcefully. “You've never let me skip school before.”

He gave a dry chuckle. “There's no fun to making up your own rules unless you can break them. And I think today is an Elizabeth day, what do you think?” He said, nuzzling her cheek.

Much needed warmth spread through her as she curled into him. She tried not to think about what had happened in this very kitchen the previous day. It was better not to think of it. The world wasn't so simple as Sam had always wanted her to believe. She had to remember that. It wasn't just good guys and bad guys. It was far more complicated.

“If it's a me day, can I decide what we do?” She asked impulsively, thinking of the woodland behind the house that remained largely unexplored.

“I don't see a problem with that. Provided we aren't required to travel. You _will_ have to go to school tomorrow.”

“Okay then,” she said, sitting up straighter. “There's a couple of trails behind the house. Can we go hiking? I really want to see what's around here.”

He agreed readily and she happily slid off of his lap to get herself dressed for a day outside. She scrambled upstairs, hurriedly shedding her clothes for fresh ones. She'd slept in a sundress last night, too tired and upset to change into pajamas.

Pulling on a t-shirt, jeans and her hiking boots, she threw a last look around her bedroom, giving Lola an affectionate pat. The cat was growing so fast. Her long, lean body curled up on the pillow and she gave a massive yawn, showing off her pink tongue and sharp teeth.

Lizzie smiled at the cat, leaving her door open and bounding down the stairs to put dry food in her bowl and refresh her water.

“I'm ready,” she said, presenting herself to her dad. He blinked at her, still sitting at the breakfast table in his pajamas.

“I see...give me a moment then.” He still looked faintly surprised as she hurried him up the stairs to get ready.

She wanted to be outside. The house felt oppressive to her. Sunshine and the outdoors was exactly what she needed.

It felt like ages before he was ready but eventually he was and she led the charge out the door, wishing that her horse was stabled nearer so they could take the trail on horseback. But hiking was fine. As long as she wasn't in the house.

She held his hand as they wandered through the back of the property to the edge of the woodlands where the grass ceased to be mown neatly and tall saplings grew up in its stead. The trail was only a beaten dirt track but it was wide enough for both of them side by side. The morning sun shone strongly as they trekked further into the wood and it was only when they'd walked for ten or so minutes that the trees start to grow tall enough for there to be more shade than sun.

“Hey dad, can I dye my hair blonde?” Lizzie asked, genuinely curious about what he'd say.

He huffed a laugh, stepping over a tree root. “Your school doesn't allow that.”

“How'd you know?” She asked incredulously. _She_ knew that but hadn't expected him to.

“I read the handbook that was sent home.”

“Oh,” she said, crestfallen. That meant he knew a lot more than she'd thought about what was banned at school and what wasn't. “Sam never read that stuff.”

“Well, I'm not Sam,” he said gently. “I have so many plans for you Lizzie, and they do not involve being expelled from school.”

“What plans?”

“Well, didn't you say you wanted to be a doctor? Don't you still want that?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I'm good at math and science.”

“Well, I can certainly ensure you a place at Harvard medical school, or Oxford if you want.”

“I want to get in by myself,” she said recalcitrantly. “I can do it, you know. I don't _need_ to be good at languages to be a doctor.”

He squeezed her hand. “I'm proud of you, no matter what, you know that, don't you?”

“I haven't...done anything to be proud of yet. But I will,” she promised earnestly.

He was silent for a while until they reached a small trickle of water. “Let's follow that to the creek,” he suggested.

The pair of them trod the rocky outcrop, following the clear water stream down into a valley, largely deforested. The stream widened and joined a fast running creek. They stopped, listening to the sound of the birds and the wind and the rush of the creek.

Lizzie dipped her hand into the water. It was fiercely cold. She wiped the sweat from her neck and looked over at her dad, watching him bend down to splash his face with water. His usually neat blond hair was tousled and she noticed with faint surprise that he hadn't shaved. He _always_ shaved. It was unusual to see the golden glint of stubble on his face. He was always so fastidious with his appearance.

She sat by the creek, folding into the soft grass with a heaving sigh. Her dad followed her, stretching out on the grass beside her and laying his head in her lap, looking up at the open sky.

“I went to a baptism once,” he said presently, “in a clearing just like this. I'm not one for belief in a higher power. Have I ever asked you if you hold any religious beliefs? No? Well, all the same, a baptism at the heart of untamed wilderness...it was a beautiful thing.”

“I can't imagine you at a baptism,” she said, stroking his roughened cheek. “Were you there for the communion wine?”

He laughed in pleased delight at her quip and turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand. “Not exactly but you've keen skills of observation there. No, I was there for an old friend who had ‘found god’, so to speak. He'd spent some time in prison, and as they often do, came out as a bible thumper. It lasted less than a year but he was sober as a judge until he fell off the wagon and spent a night in Las Vegas cheating at cards. Terribly talented with sleight of hand, he was.”

“Do you believe in right and wrong then?” She asked curiously, remembering what he had said about his disregard of the social contract.

“I believe in what's right for me...for us,” he said slowly, his eyes growing heavy as she soothed him with her hand, running her fingers through his hair.

She wasn't sure what to make of that. Essentially, he meant that there was no right and wrong, didn't he? And what would happen if right for each of them was one day at cross purposes? She shifted uneasily at the thought.

“Do you know, there's a bible story, the king of Israel, King Saul, he was subject to fits of mania.” He looked up into her face as he spoke, watching her carefully. “You've probably heard of King David...of David and Goliath fame? David played the harp and he was a shepherd at the time Saul was king. The way the story goes, Saul was tormented by an evil spirit. The only thing that could relieve him was music played by David on the harp.”

“How do you know so much about the bible?” She asked curiously.

“Sunday school when I was a boy,” he answered blithely. “The story paints Saul as a jealous monster, paranoid and half insane. But I've always had, shall we say, a creeping sympathy for him. Now more than ever.”

“Why?”

He pursed his lips for a moment, reaching above his head to take the hand that was caressing him. He folded her hand between his. “I hadn't slept...well, for near ten years. Having you right by me is...soothing. You're my harp music Lizzie.”


	30. Chapter 30

 

It was a slow awakening to soft, warm lips on his. Smooth hands sliding through the hair on his chest. Her hair curtaining his face. Sweet smelling hair, silky and ticklish on his cheek.

 _Her hair_.

 _Lizzie_.

His eyes sprang open and he found himself looking straight into blue eyes framed by sooty lashes. She was draped across him, straddling his hips, her body so light as she nestled into him. The only thing lying between them was his pajama pants. Her nightie was up around her waist, her lower body bare under the covers.

“Good morning, precious girl,” he crooned, brushing a thumb across her bottom lip, blinking once or twice as he looked into her face, his eyes still crusted a little. “Sleep well?”

He watched in dark satisfaction as her throat moved and her eyes darted to his mouth as he spoke.

“I...yeah.”

He had a hunch that she was feeling awkward about the last few nights, after he'd asked her to sleep in his bed with him again.

It had been so easy to convince her, his powers of persuasion hadn't rusted a bit in his semi retirement. He'd implored, using his own needs to seduce her little heart into softening toward him. “Just in the same bed Lizzie. Just within reach, that’s all. You're my soothing little angel, don’t forget. I've become used to having you near me.”

She had crawled into bed with him but had been as flighty as a deer. She’d dart out of bed for a glass of water or some forgotten thing in her own bedroom if he so much as rolled over toward her. So for the past few nights, he’d come to bed early, tucking the sheets in around him, lying still, allowing her the time she needed to realize she was not hunted.

Oh, but she was. He _was_ hunting, seeking her trust again. Slow steps, light steps toward reassuring her that he was not a monster, that he would never hurt her.

Her wake up call this morning had been very welcome. It was the first time she'd sought intimacy in bed since their disastrous weekend in the south of France.

He rolled her off of him, capturing her with her arms and leaned over her, admiring the freckles across the bridge of her nose, resisting his urge to kiss her. She lay flat on the bed, arms splayed above her head, her dark hair fanning out onto the pillow, just waiting for him.

But he wasn't going to do anything just yet.

“After you finish that assignment I know that you’ve been hiding from me, would you like to go skiing on the lake?”

She looked perplexed for a moment and he did his best to hide a sly smile. He could read her face like a book. She'd clearly expected him to take up what she was offering, stretched out on the bed as if she were a prize all done up with a pretty bow. Perhaps she was a prize, at that. But he wasn't going to indulge, not yet. He was more terrified than he'd like to admit of losing her.

If he were to be starkly honest with himself, he would rather sleep chastely beside her forever than have her run from him again. She had no idea how much her presence soothed him at night, when visions of his past deeds crept upon him like seeping poison and tormented his sleep.

He could be patient.

She hadn't answered him. “You don't look like you want to go skiing then?” He prompted. “What else would you like to do? I have some calls to make in my study this morning while you're doing schoolwork but I'm available to you after midday.”

“Well actually,” she said cautiously, “Jessica and Marty were going shopping in Lausanne. Could I go too? I could take the train.”

Stamping down disappointment that she didn't want to spend the weekend with him, he smiled freely, nodding his assent. “I'll get Artie to pick one of the team to drive you.”

Taking pleasure in her squeal of delight, he idly watched her scramble off of the bed and out of the room to get ready for the day.

It was only when she had left with his credit card and an exuberant kiss on the cheek that he had the uncomfortable thought that perhaps she had offered herself to him this morning to sweeten her request for a shopping trip with friends. It filled him with disgust, but it was a thought that wouldn't leave him.

He shook his head, annoyed at himself for entertaining notions such as that. It wouldn't help to mend what had been broken if he was going to become jealous and suspicious. He needed to keep himself busy. He deliberately shook off his dark thoughts and went down to the study. He had things to do...and a birthday party to plan.

 

* * *

 

Raymond Reddington was a well known oenophile. A passionate lover of wine, of fine spirits and liqueurs. A bottle of burgundy was a treat for the senses, the brioche taste of a quality champagne accompanied with a creamy brie was a delight to the tongue.

He sat now in the dying light of the late Saturday afternoon, attempting to enjoy his temporary retirement. He didn't intend to wrap up his business dealings altogether but the scene with Perrett had shown him the necessity of handing over the reins, stepping back as an active participant if he was going to raise his daughter. A few years under the radar, his business primarily run by Newton and Luli. He had nothing to worry about right now, the hardest decision of his day had been whether to open a bottle of the burgundy he'd purchased in a quick visit to the region last week or a bottle of the Pol Roger Sir Winston Churchill he’d been gifted by an associate recently. After some consideration, he'd opted for the burgundy.

Lizzie was due home at any moment. She'd made friends and he was glad of it, even if she never brought them home. A shopping trip was just right for a girl of her age. It was healthy and normal. He had no reason to forbid her this and he wouldn't. But he wanted to. He wanted her at home. They didn't even have to talk, just her presence was enough to ease his troubled mind. He felt complete when he was in the same room with her, watching her seated at the dining room table, bent over her homework.

He heard the heavy creak of the front door and he set his glass down.

She was home.

“Lizzie, come and and tell me what mischief you've been up to,” he called out to her heartily, his tongue loosened by the quantities of ruby red wine he'd consumed.

She peeked around the corner of the living room, “I wasn't in any mischief,” she said with a half halfheartedly indignant tone, moving further into the room and smirking at him cheekily, her arms full of shopping bags and boxes. Her eyes roved slowly over him as he slouched in the most comfortable armchair in the room, the beige, overstuffed one in the corner, near the window.

“What are you drinking,” she asked, sniffing the air as she came further into the room, dropping her purchases carelessly on the couch.

“A burgundy.”

“Is that a red or a white? Sounds red.”

He groaned. “Can you really be the fruit of my loins,” he said theatrically.

But she didn't see the fun. “ _You_ said I was,” she exclaimed, looking alarmed.

“Oh, no, no, Lizzie, just a joke, sweetheart,” he reached out his arms for her and she came willingly to sit on his lap, resting her head under his chin. “But maybe in addition to our evening language lessons, we can add a little bit of a crash course in wine. I can tell you all about terroir and the different grapes available here.”

“Terror?” She asked, looking up at him, a small furrow to her eyebrows.

“No, terroir,” he said, pronouncing the word with exaggerated care. “It's a _fascinating_ word. Means everything from the soil the vines are grown in to the amount of sun that one hill might get as opposed to another and the climate of course.”

He smiled down on her, his hand drifting to her tummy, lightly tickling her. She wiggled against him, protesting in between her giggles. “Stop it,” she said, lightly slapping his hand, then reaching across his body to pick up the wine bottle sitting on the coffee table next to him. She examined the bottle, tilting it up to the light, her bright eyes scanning the label with interest. “I thought all reds were just made from red grapes and all whites from white grapes.”

“It's not that simple, you little barbarian,” he said, grinning at her.

“Huh.” She made a face, dropping the bottle back onto the coffee table with a clunk. Stretching out over him, she bared her tummy, her shirt riding up to give him a peek of milky white skin.

She was teasing him. It didn't amuse him very much. He felt his whole body tighten and his mouth water. The wine had slowed his limbs a little, relaxed his shoulders, just slightly. He had imbibed only enough to feel that he wasn't drunk but that his mood was certainly altered. He wasn't sure yet if he was feeling darker or lighter than usual. Perhaps he hadn't made his mind up yet. Perhaps Lizzie was going to make it up for him.

“Bojana will be here soon to cook dinner,” she said softly, wiggling against him.

She _was_ teasing him.

“Shall I send her away?” He asked grandly. After all, he was the master of the house here.

“No...no, I'm hungry. But we could have a movie night tonight and sleep in tomorrow?”

He agreed, keeping his enthusiasm well in hand. Best not to let teenagers know how much power they had over you.


	31. Chapter 31

It was her birthday. Her real one. He was going to surprise her with this. When he'd discussed the adoption with Sam and the reasons for it, he'd picked a date a few weeks out of her actual birthday for her to celebrate each year. It was best not to include any details that could be used to find her. A little girl's birth date adjusted by only a few weeks. No evidence that the four year old child had survived the house fire.

She thought she was going to be fifteen in ten days time. But she was fifteen today.

The large front door slammed with a shuddering thud.

“Dad! Hey dad!” She yelled, stomping through the house.

He blinked at the noise her riding boots made on the polished floorboards, echoing through the cavernous hallway. She appeared in the doorway of the living room and entered with a swing in her step. He wondered how she was getting along with her riding lessons. She looked happy.

“Marty says that she's going to teach me how to jump. Can she? I know I'm not supposed to be jumping yet but it looks really easy and Antoinette is such a good horse...”

She slowed to a stop, pausing in the centre of the room. He noticed with suppressed annoyance that she'd trod mud onto the Turkish rug. Well. Time enough to remind her to take her boots off before leaving the hallway another day. Today was special.

He had it meticulously planned. Fifteen red roses were to be delivered tonight. He planned on escorting her to dinner on the marina. A cozy little seafood restaurant, with red brick walls, crisp, white linen tablecloths and a violinist seated in the corner.

“What's wrong?” She had frozen, her blazer held tightly in her arms. She had clearly sensed the charged atmosphere, judging from her shuttered expression and hunched shoulders.

He'd been pacing the floor with nervous energy in the living room, waiting for her to come home from her riding class. He'd been a fool to let himself become worked up over this and now he'd frightened her. So used to keeping everything close to his chest, he'd just begun to think that perhaps she would prefer to have been told before her actual birthday.

“Nothing,” he said lightly. “Quite the opposite. I have something to discuss with you.”

“What?”

She took a step back, that terribly hunted look still on her face.

He swallowed hard. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. He'd been overconfident, used to surprising women with wild and expensive gifts, dinners and vacations. He realized now with some mortification that he had enjoyed whisking partners away, taking control and while he didn't think he'd ever disappointed...Lizzie was not just any young woman. And her birthday was not just any pleasant weekend away.

Too late now.

“Come and sit,” he said, gesturing to the couch. I have a revelation for you…”

 

* * *

 

A hard emptiness filled her stomach as she sat across from him at the restaurant. She felt as though she wasn't quite real, as though she could fade away if he took his eyes off of her. Was he the only thing that made her real?

“Lizzie,” he said softly, reaching for her hand across the table. “You're fifteen. Far too young to be worrying about getting older a few weeks earlier than you'd anticipated.”

Didn't he understand? She had nothing of herself. Not really. Her name wasn't real, her family wasn't real and now her date of birth was a lie too.

“I've always missed my birthday,” she whispered. “I can't believe Sam knew and let me think that for…”

“I've celebrated it for you. Every year, sweetheart.”

“I don't want a different birthday,” she muttered rebelliously, pulling her hand away. She wanted to say more, hot words on the tip of her tongue but the waiter had arrived at their table.

She had to concentrate hard to follow the waiters words, spoken in polite French. But as it turned out, she didn't need to try and understand him to order.

“Allow me,” her dad said smoothly, ordering oysters for their entree.

“Belon Oysters from Brittany in France,” he said, smiling at her gently as he raised a glass of water to her.

She almost didn't respond to him, feeling an overwhelming need to be angry, and more than that, she was frustrated that she felt so  _mean_ about being angry. It was a confusing spiral of emotion but she couldn't help the urge to make him happy in the end. She raised her water glass to his, clinking them together. It was impossible to let him feel bad for long.

“To you, Lizzie,” he said, taking a sip of his water.

It hadn't escaped her attention that he was restricting himself to sparkling water. He usually ordered wine with his meals when they dined out and it was a glaring omission now.

“No champagne?” She inquired, trying to keep her voice casual and disinterested.

“No.”

Letting it pass, she asked her next question. “What did you order for mains? I didn't understand it.”

“Quenelles of Pike with lobster sauce. You have to try it at least once in your life.”

Glancing around her at the other patrons, she observed fresh lobster being served at one table, what looked like a duck dish and bouillabaisse being eaten at another. Irritation flared at his heavy handedness in ordering for her. She shoved it back down though. Getting upset at him when he meant well only ever ended in tears for her.

“So I'm fifteen then,” she said, attempting to process it. She'd been so caught up in trying to get back their previous harmony that she hadn't even thought about her birthday. And now there was no time to think about it. It just was.

“I have something for you. Something that perhaps might be a little too opulent for a young girl’s tastes but I couldn't resist,” he said with eyes that remained unblinking for so long that they began to film over.

It was a shamefully mean feeling that arose in her breast when she saw how nervous he was. She tucked away her tumultuous thoughts and smiled at him. He reached for the plainly wrapped small box that had been resting on the table since they'd been seated. She had guessed it was a birthday gift but her feelings were still so anesthetized, she hadn't thought to ask further about it.

She wondered now.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He pushed the package gently across the table til it brushed her fingers.

Hesitantly, she picked it up, weighing it in her hands. Pink ribbon curled in a neat bow around the small package, wrapped in thick cream paper. Her eyes darted up to his. He was watching her intently, his gaze boring holes into her. When he focused on her, he had a way of making her feel like she was the most important person in the world. Her stomach eased a little.

“Open it,” he prompted eagerly.

Her cold fingers tangled in the ribbon as she teased the bow apart, ripping at the paper. Inside was a small velvet ring box. For a moment she held it in the palm of her hand, insane thoughts accosting her, thoughts of promises, of oaths and devotion. Only a moment though. Her imagination skidded to a halt. This was a gift from her father, her dad. She opened the box, flashing him another quick smile as she did.

“A blue diamond,” he breathed, still watching her, greedy for her reaction. “They're very rare. This one was given to Ingrid Bergman by her third husband Lars Schmidt. You're every bit as beautiful as she was. And she carried off her natural beauty very well in the golden age of Hollywood, where everyone was primped and plucked within an inch of their lives.” He spoke very quickly as though wishing to fill in her silence.

“It's amazing,” she said softly, gently removing it from the box. She hesitated. “Um, which finger?”

“That one,” he said, stroking his index finger down a finger on her right hand.

She slipped it on. It fit perfectly, the platinum band gleaming in the low restaurant lighting, the deep ocean blue of the oval shaped gem glittering ferociously. It was encircled by smaller, clear diamonds, a massive display of wealth all on her slim finger.

“Ingrid Bergman and I apparently had the same sized fingers.” She held her hand up to the light examining the look of it. He was right, it was opulent. But she had always liked her hands. She'd have to keep her fingernails shaped though

“Oh I had it re-sized, of course,” he said smoothly. “I have one more thing for you. But it will have to wait til after dinner.”

Impatient for her other gift, dinner dragged a little. He was right though, the food was delectable.

“Okay, the fish is awesome,” she admitted. “What's the second present?”

Laughing gently, he signaled for the cheque and they left the restaurant, spilling out into the cool night air. He took her hand, leading her toward the water.

“Where are we going?”

“Shush, let me show you.”

She felt the ring sitting heavy on her finger as he held her hand, warming the cold metal with his own fingers interlaced with hers. The feeling of a ring on her hand was still a new one. She didn't normally wear rings, preferring bangles and bracelets instead. She'd watched friends wear cheap rings before and listened to them complain about the greenish stain it left on their finger. She'd never worn something so expensive. It glittered darkly like the lake rippling under the half moon.

He took her further down, past the main dock to a smaller one, where half a dozen boats sat on the water, bobbing gently. The water slapped up against the concrete wall in lazy rhythm.

“It occurred to me,” he said suddenly after the silence of their short walk, “that I tend to own boats whenever I choose to stay near water. You know I was in the navy? Of course you do.” He nodded at her companionably. “I have a great love of the water...of watercraft. It's been a long time...a very long time since I've had the freedom to spend an afternoon fishing in an old rowboat as I did when I was a young boy. But it's still one of my most enduring memories. Fishing with my father on weekends, out on the river, wasting time talking about boats and girls and cars. My father taught me to sail you know.”

He looked out to the water at the nearest boat, still holding her hand, stroking it almost absently with his thumb.

“Do you...do I have grandparents?” She asked shyly, disturbing him from his reverie.

“Gone. I'm sorry, both gone,” he said shortly. “But I didn't bring you here to talk to you about ghosts. I wanted you to have something of the pleasure of watercraft. See there,” he pointed out at an elegant little wooden boat, lying sleekly in the water. Even in the dark, she could see it gleamed with a well cared for air. It looked somehow different from the rest of the boats lined up next to it. There wasn't so much steel and fibreglass and the varnished mahogany lines curved in a way that the other boats just didn't.

“That's pretty.”

“It's an antique. And it's yours. It's a restored Riva Ariston. Built in 1953.”

“But we already have a boat here,” she said, staring at the boat in wonder.

“This is all yours. Your own little motor boat. There's a sun bed, so you can take your friends out on the weekend.”

“Bellezza,” she read out from the gold lettering at the rear of the boat. “Beauty?”

“That's it's name. I'm afraid you're stuck with it. Terribly bad luck to change the name of a boat,” he said, grinning. “Do you like it?”

All the gifts in the world didn't take away the strange upside down feeling that had taken residence in the pit of her stomach for some time now. But they certainly made it easier. It was nice to be adored.

“I love it,” she pronounced, glancing up at him briefly.

“We’ll come out tomorrow and you can test run her.”

“Dad,” she said impulsively.

“Yes?”

“I'm sorry I've been so shitty lately. I don't know what's going on. I just feel really...angry all the time.” She felt tears that she didn't want welling up in her eyes as she spoke.

“Ssh ssh,” he said, circling her waist with his arm. “It's just hormones baby girl. You're growing into a young woman.” He kissed her forehead, his lips warm on her skin.

She clung to him, feeling a certainty in her gut that he wanted her again. That if she asked to go home now he would take her into his bedroom.

“Can we go home?”

His lips didn't leave her for just a moment and she felt him tremble slightly against her. If he wanted her again, if he would take her home straight away it would all be right once more. He would make her feel like she belonged with him and that he belonged to her.

Bundling her into the car silently, he signaled home to the driver and closed the car door. The trees flashed by as the sedan crawled slowly into the hills where the occasional street light glowed faintly, stretching further and further apart as they drove closer to home.

Into the house they went, his hand guiding her gently at her waist, a proprietary touch, light but meaningful.

“Lizzie,” he said, turning to her on the stairs, bending his head to her. “Kiss me on the mouth.”

She felt her stomach flutter as he said her name, as he demanded a kiss from her. She reached for him. He loved her, he still loved her. Even after all the things that had gone wrong. She wouldn't be afraid of him, she refused to be.

She kissed him.

Pressing her up against the banister, he returned her affection, slow and softly, with every sign of enjoying himself. Everything in her surrendered to him. She felt him hard against her as he shifted a knee to open her legs. It was impossible to stay upright, he was making her limbs feel like jelly.

He leaned into her further, his voice in her ear, dark and gravelly. “Come upstairs,” he said, taking her hand and drawing her up the stair and down the hall to his own bedroom. She was so familiar with it now, the gleaming wooden floors, the large bay window with sheer curtains and a view out into the woodland. His room was the largest in the house, the master bedroom in a mansion full of already oversized rooms. It was uncluttered, a sign of the neatness that he desired so much. The only furniture was a nightstand on either side and an antique wardrobe where his clothes hung, freshly pressed and organised by color.

A profusion of red roses decorated the nightstand on the side the that she usually slept on. She counted them. Fifteen blooming flowers.

A nagging unease reached at her but she cast it aside. So what if he had planned this moment? A romantic gesture, a birthday to leave her surprised and disoriented. She was sick and tired of feeling all wrong and he made her feel good and happy and wanted.

“Pretty roses for a pretty girl,” he murmured, bending his head to kiss her neck as he moved up behind her.

“They're gorgeous,” she said, flinching a little as he unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor. His arms came around her, sliding over her skin, confident of his welcome.

“You're beautiful,” he crooned. “So beautiful. You're my life, Lizzie. You're everything.” His voice had roughened on his last word, his hands becoming more insistent. Gently he slid his hands down her stomach, his fingers easing their way into her as though it were the most natural thing. His knuckle was deep inside her before she could even think and her legs shook, quivering with the stimulation. It was too much all at once, as though he knew what it would take to bring her to her knees. If he hadn't caught her, she would have fallen to the ground.

Gently, he moved her to the bed, peeling off his clothes and insistently tugging down at her underpants. He cradled her atop the covers, his nakedness on top of hers feeling so strange to her. It felt as though she were floating above her body, not inside her own skin. It was a peculiar sensation but it disconnected her from the rush of feeling, the confusing mess of painful emotion that had become so familiar to her. For a moment, she felt nothing, then she came back to herself with a shock of desire as he played with her body.

“Oh, okay,” she said, feeling stupid. “Dad…”

“Close your eyes, baby girl,” he said, kissing her eyelids as they fluttered closed. “Shh, now,” he said, his rich voice rolling over her, his fingers traveling along her skin in long, sensuous strokes.

Her brain went fuzzy and cold as she lay there. She pressed her cheek against his though. His skin was fascinating. She loved to rub his cheek with her own, to feel his skin against hers. The textures were so different. He had often marveled over the softness of her skin, making it into almost a reverential thing, his hands wandering over her, his voice whispering his love of her body, growling pleasant words into her ear. He used words like silky. Lovely, so lovely, he said. His breath, hot on her skin as his lips traced heated kisses across her face, her neck, her breasts.

She moaned, her eyes opening wide again as he took a nipple into his mouth. He reached a hand between her legs once more, his eyes darting up to look her in the face.

His lips left her breast. “I said close your eyes,” he reminded her, a hint of command in his voice.

She squeezed her eyes shut fiercely, hating when he was displeased with her in bed. The slightest tone of disappointment in his voice was as brutal as the lash of a whip to her psyche, so thirsty for his approval.

He returned to her though, his hand once again caressing her, his fingers massaging her, finding the spot between her legs, his delicate forefinger probing, magicking away any tension she felt.

It started with a shuddering tremble in her lower belly, a sweet ache of pent up _something_ and then built to an almost unbearable pleasure. He took her mouth again as she moaned, trading her breath for his. His kiss was wet, hot and demanding. She peeked at him from behind her lashes. His eyes were closed, his forehead furrowed into creases. If she didn't know better she'd have thought he wasn't enjoying himself, he looked so upset.

“Are you okay,” she whispered,

His eyes flashed open. “Oh yes,” he murmured, moving himself further over her, nudging her legs wider as he settled his body on top of her. “Close your eyes, sweetheart.”


	32. Chapter 32

Lizzie woke suddenly, her eyes stinging as though she had been swimming in salt water.

“You're awake,” came her father’s voice, imbued with knowing, certainty tinging his words despite her body lying motionless, cradled against him, twisted in soft cotton sheets. His arms tightened around her, squeezing her til she was breathless. The way she fit against his side was almost enough to dispel the unease she held constantly.

Almost.

“I'm awake,” she answered him drowsily.

He kissed her neck in response. A surge of alarm pulsed through her. It wasn't that she didn't want to be close to him like this, but she felt suddenly that she needed him only to hold her. It didn't make sense, these impulses of reluctance that she was having. It almost made her feel ill. One moment she trembled with excitement, the next, the idea of him touching her with anything more intimate than a cuddle made her feel greasy and green.

She shifted her body, turning into him, pressing her flat stomach to his, skin against skin with her head tucked under his chin.

“I think there's something wrong with me,” she whispered as she pushed her fingers through his chest hair.

Immediately, he stiffened as though her pronouncement had been shouted. “What's wrong?”

“I just feel really strange all the time. Like one minute I'm okay, the next minute I'm not. Last night you said it was hormones but I feel...like I might be sick. Maybe I should see the doctor?”

He was silent for a moment, long enough for an uneasy cramp to grow in her stomach. Had she upset him? A jolt of panic hit her and she tucked a leg in between his legs, anxious that maybe she'd made things bad...again.

“Sorry, it was a stupid-”

“No, you need to see Doctor Parrilla soon anyway,” he said gruffly, stroking her hair. “I'm still convinced your feelings are entirely normal, sweetheart. You need to be calm. What you're experiencing is just part of growing up.”

“You think I need to see him though?” She didn't mean to press, but he couldn't say she was okay and then want her to see the doctor at the same time surely?

“Do you remember when you were attacked at school?”

“She didn't  _attack_ me, it was just an accident.”

“Mmhmm, well, do you recall the shots you were given? I'm sure you do, they weren't pleasant. All the same, you're going to need another shot soon. One of them was birth control,” he said smoothly, touching a hand lightly to her belly as if to illustrate that the shot had served its purpose.

Her entire body was on fire as his words filtered through her brain.

Fire, was it? No, she was freezing in ice. On fire, in ice, she couldn't know which, but she felt her nerve endings screaming and growing numb by turns.

He had given her a shot for birth control and hadn't told her? Was that okay?

 _Of course it's okay_ , she thought desperately, blinking back stinging tears. Once again, her feelings were out of control. He had been sensible and she hadn't even _thought_ of the consequences of their intimacy. He was protecting her, he always looked after her.

Swallowing her tears, she rolled on top of him, throwing her arms around his neck and hiding her face in his chest. He was warmth and flesh beneath her, holding her close to him, his lips pressed to her forehead.

He grunted, arching his body up, his hands sliding around her waist to her bare buttocks and rocking himself against her.

“My tummy hurts,” she said in a small voice. Not wishing to reject him, she hoped that he would hold her and stroke her belly like he often did when she had her period. She wasn't due for it yet but no other feeling was quite as good as when he stroked her belly in bed. She felt restful and loved by him when he did that.

“What a shame,” he said darkly, taking her arms and rolling her deftly under him. She was pinned to the bed by his heavy weight, sinking into the sheets as he slid down her body, stopping as his lips touched her belly. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

She flushed, the burning discomfort in her stomach now twisted with a strange throbbing, an almost nauseating desire.

He looked up at her from under his long eyelashes with a half smile on his face, waiting silently for her answer. She realized with a small thrill of surprise that he really _was_ going to require her to respond this time. Particularly after that time in France where they had…

Well.

“Yes,” she said, her throat thick, her voice trembling.

“My girl,” he breathed, “my precious girl.” He pressed his lips to her stomach, tracing light kisses across her skin.

She yearned for him to fold her into himself and hold her but her body wanted other things, betraying her, buzzing with electricity. A sweet, gentle ache was brewing between her legs, a slick sense of anticipation fluttered low in her belly, mixing in with the burning discomfort she felt, jumbling about, confusing her senses til she wasn't sure what she was truly feeling.

He did kiss it better in the end. His hands holding her firmly in place as she squirmed.

 

* * *

 

“I have a doctor's appointment,” said Lizzie reluctantly steering her boat back in. Jessica and Marty were sunbathing in the back, their limbs flung out lazily in the warm midday sun. “Why don't we go out again next weekend?”

“Ugh,” groaned Jessica, “I was just starting to relax. What's the doctor’s appointment for?”

“Just a checkup,” responded Lizzie quickly. “My dad likes to worry.”

Jessica waved a hand out in acceptance of her statement. “Your dad’s cute. Don't tell him I said that. But don't you think so Marty?”

Marty turned over, pushing her sunglasses higher up onto her nose. “Yeah, he's hot. How come you never invite us over? I love that your dad moved to the school with you instead of sending you as a boarder. You've got him wrapped around your little finger,” she said, grinning. “He'd probably let us do whatever we wanted at your house.”

Maybe it wasn't fair or nice, but she felt a rush of jealousy at the idea of any of her school friends ogling her dad. He was a self possessed man who was very aware of his own attractiveness. He'd probably pick up on her friends crushes immediately. She hated the idea of that. Wanting him all to herself wasn't so wrong, was it? It was becoming something that she relied on, his eyes following her about the room, his gaze tender and proprietary. She didn't want to see his eyes on anyone else.

“Dad’s busy with business all the time...he doesn't like the house getting too crowded or loud,” she said carefully as she slowed the boat right down and brought it up against the pier. Several of their bodyguards stood unobtrusively under a sycamore tree ten or so yards away. Artie was among them and her lips twitched in a smile as she caught sight of him. She was far past being annoyed at them following her around now that she saw how many kids at school had their own security. Apparently it was fairly common.

Jessica and Marty had their drivers waiting for them on the street to take them back to school. A squat man with a lump on his reddened nose stood outside of the limousine waiting at the pier, cigarette in hand and a long suffering expression on his face. He was waiting for Jessica. The car behind him was a small sedan with an older woman sitting in the front seat, her back ramrod straight and hands on the wheel, despite the car idling there on the side of the road, going nowhere.

“See ya on Monday then,” said Marty, giving both girls a quick hug and disappearing into the back of the sedan.

Lizzie watched in amusement as Jessica took her own driver to task for smoking, scrambling into the back seat of the limo as she complained.

“Kevin, that's disgusting,” she harped. “You smell so gross. _God_.”

Artie and the two men with him approached her casually, hands in pockets, both with the mildest of expressions. “Home now, Miss Elizabeth? You don't want to be late for Doctor Parrilla.”

The smile fled her face as Lizzie recalled why she had to cut her afternoon short. It had been a whole week of knowing that her dad had made a doctor’s appointment for her in order for her to receive another injection.

They were having sex again. There weren't many euphemisms left in her head for what it was they were doing in his bedroom some nights. He didn't shy away from it either, becoming bolder each time. It gave her a curious ache in her belly every time she thought about what it was they did. But the delicious way he held her afterwards sent the strange stomach pain fleeing. It was like being a baby again. Or what she imagined that it must have felt like to be cradled in his embrace when she was small.

The drive home didn't distract her from her complicated thoughts of him, despite the magnificent glimpses of the glittering lake she was afforded at the car window. It seemed as though she only had space for her dad in her head these days.

She found her dad and the doctor waiting for her in her bedroom. If her door hadn't been open as she'd stomped through the hall, she wouldn't have even realized they were there. She used her bedroom to dress in the morning and that was the extent of it these days.

“Elizabeth, it's good to see you again,” exclaimed the doctor, beaming at her in his mild mannered way. “Just a quick check up today, yes?”

She threw an uneasy glance at her father, noticing that Doctor Parrilla did the same. He nodded at them both, his arms folded against his chest, an unfathomable look on his face.

“And another shot, Doctor,” he said lightly. “As discussed.”

Lizzie licked her lips nervously, crossing the room to sit on the bed. Her fingers played with the beads on her amber bracelet as she sat stiffly, allowing the doctor to lift her shirt up, placing his cold metal stethoscope against her chest. He bent his head to listen intently for a moment. It seemed as though her heart beat faster and her palms grew cold and sweaty. Never before had a simple check up made her feel as though she were at the top of a roller coaster, about to descend into free fall.

“Mr Reddington mentioned you weren't feeling well. Would you like to tell me what's wrong?” He said gently as he tugged the front of her shirt back down to cover her stomach and pulled her forward a little to place the stethoscope against her back.

Furiously thumbing at her bracelet now, she tried to focus on the question “Um,” she started. “Um, I just have stomach aches all the time. I guess.”

“You guess? How often do you have stomach aches? Out of one to ten, how bad are they?”

Why did she feel like she was under interrogation? Her neck felt so cold, and she found it suddenly hard to get enough air into her lungs. He was just asking her a silly question. She should answer it.

“I don't know,” she said foolishly, looking up at the ceiling studiously as he moved the stethoscope over her back.

She felt, rather than saw her dad move slightly from his position at the door. “Lizzie, you've been feeling unwell almost every day this week, haven't you?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Tell Doctor Parrilla then, sweetheart.”

The doctor looked up at the endearment, surprise flickering on his features. It seemed he wasn't used to that particular soft tone from his employer.

“I dunno, I'm just getting a lot of stomach aches, every day I guess. And headaches too. Also,” she added with a quick guilty glance at her dad, “sometimes I've been getting chest pain at school.”

She had been keeping that from her dad, worried that he would start to think she wasn't coping with her school work, that she wasn't as smart as he was sure that she was. And she wanted so badly to make him proud of her. When they attended school functions together she would often hear him boasting of her grades, his face was fascinating to observe, it practically glowed as he listed her talents to those that cared to hear.

“You haven't mentioned that to me before,” he said, voice heavy with displeasure.

Doctor Parrilla made a tutting noise in his throat, taking his stethoscope off and placing it on her empty nightstand. “Now now, no need to worry. Your heart sounds just as it should. Can you think of anything else that's happening when you're having these pains?”

“Um, sometimes it kinda feels hard to breathe?”

The doctor nodded encouragingly. “You sound like you might be experiencing anxiety, young lady. How is school? Any problems there?”

“No.” Her voice sounded hollow and distant, even to her own ears. But she was telling the truth. School was fine, everything was perfectly ordinary. She just had intense, burning pains in her abdomen and pelvis, felt chest pains constantly, as though a crushing weight was descending upon her. There was no reason at all. She felt uncomfortable, like a hypochondriac. Her dad never got sick or complained about aches and pains and he had far more reason to, with a network of deep scar tissue across his back.

The doctor prodded at her tummy, his eyes piercing her as though he could read her thoughts. He spoke to her as he pressed on the exact spot that hurt the most. “Well now, is there someone at school you could talk to, someone like the nurse or a guidance counselor?”

She grunted as a dull burning pain flared in her lower belly. He seemed to be aware he'd caused her some discomfort because his hands gentled immediately, still checking her stomach carefully.

“Yeah, I guess,” she gasped.

“Hmm. How are your bowel movements.”

“Fine,” she squeaked, throwing a glance at her dad, her cheeks flushing scarlet. _God, was this going to get any more embarrassing?_

For a moment it seemed like he wasn't going to press further but his hands dropped to his sides and he gave her a worried look. “Very well Elizabeth. It doesn't appear that anything is physically wrong but we can take some blood today and run some tests.” He glanced back at her father. “She's been eating well, I trust?”

“Yes I have,” she said defensively. “I'm right here, you know.”

He chuckled. “My apologies Miss Milhoan, I didn't mean to offend."

She flinched. No one had really called her Miss Milhoan since she'd enrolled at the new school. At the time, she'd wondered about it but had been so involved and wrapped up in her new dad and new life that she hadn't thought to ask him, half afraid that she'd send it all unraveling, that it was all just a fragile dream and if she pressed him as to why he wouldn't give her his last name, her spun silk castle would collapse on top of her.

She meant to ask him soon.

Giving her head a slight shake, she watched as the doctor packed up his stethoscope, slipped on latex gloves from the black briefcase resting on her nightstand and turned back to her with a tongue depressor in his hand.

“Say aahh.”

She opened her mouth, allowing him to depress her tongue, checking her throat and tonsils, said ‘ahh’ at the right time and waited patiently as he turned away from her, finished with his check up.

“Just the shot, and we’re finished here,” the doctor said quietly, with an undertone of something she couldn't quite place in his voice. It almost sounded like regret.

Bending over his briefcase again he brought out a tray with a couple of implements lying on it. She couldn't see much more, given that the doctor’s body obscured her vision.

He turned to her with a syringe in his hand just as a wave of panic and fury hit her. She didn't even see the swab he held in his other hand. All she saw was latex gloves and a syringe filled with fluid.

It seemed as if everything had sped up and came into painfully sharp focus. Her gaze took in his face, his latex covered hands and the syringe, shutting everything else out, even the cheerful doctor's voice, trying to soothe her. His hand snapped to her bicep and before she knew what she was doing, her own hand took on a life of its own, her palm open, coming up to meet his face in a stinging slap. Once, twice, a third time with balled fist. He stood above her, stupefied, staring at her with rigid shock, his cheek beginning to show an immediate reddened print, an outline of her intense rage.

A piercing sound hit her ears, a ringing of bells or of a siren, like someone had slammed a panic button and all she heard was enough meaningless noise to drown her.

Perhaps the sound in her ears distracted her to the point that she hadn't realized her own retreat across the bed, hadn't noticed her father rushing toward her from his position at the door, pushing away the doctor. A low bellow, like a keening calf crying for its mother reached her ears, only ceasing when she realized it was coming from her own throat.

She was huddled in the corner of her bed, her arms raised over her head, her shoulder pressed against the wall, it was as if some unseen force wanted to push her right through it. She couldn't breathe, her muscles were taut and trembling as she came to some sense of reality again. But oh she _really_ couldn't breathe and her father was hovering above her, begging her to tell him what was wrong and all she could manage were tears. Frustrated and frightened, her lungs finally cooperated with her, painfully taking in air again, at first shallow and fast, then deep, shuddering breath.

Embarrassment crept upon her, heating her cheeks as she surveyed the wreckage of her bedroom through wide eyes. She had thrown anything she could get her hands on across the room at the poor doctor. His briefcase lay bent and broken on the floor, small items that had previously lain neatly stacked away now at all ends of the room. She had shattered a stained glass lamp and thrown her school dictionary against the wall, apparently quite hard, judging from the split spine.

“Sorry,” she said helplessly. “I'm sorry.”

“Get out, Bernie,” her dad said through gritted teeth as he placed his hands firmly around her upper arms.

The doctor remained cautiously behind her father at the end of the bed, making no move to leave. She couldn't look at him, too ashamed of the way she'd just treated her dad’s family physician.

“ _Out_.”

“No,” he said firmly, surprising both herself and her dad, their heads snapping up to look at the doctor, his shoulders hunched forward, peering back at them both as if preparing for some unpleasant duty. “I don't wish to anger you, Mr Reddington, but Elizabeth is my patient. I must insist on staying here a little longer.”

Turning back to look at her, her dad bent his head down so that his lips grazed her ear, whispering to her. “Lizzie, do you want the doctor here or not? Will you tell me what's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” she said again, shaking her head and blinking back hot tears. How could she tell them what was wrong? She didn't know herself. It was as if she were going crazy. Was this what it was like to go insane? Would she be locked up?

“Bernie, you may come back tonight, after dinner. Right now, you can see she doesn't want to talk to you,” he said warningly. “I assure you, I can care for my own daughter. Go home.”

Reluctantly, he left.

 

* * *

 

Raymond’s heart twisted in his chest as he held his little girl, slumped over in her bed. He stroked her hair as she cried, head cradled in her small hands, her shoulders shaking with the sobs that were engulfing her.

“What's wrong with me, what's wrong with me,” she repeated over and over.

“Shhh, nothing is wrong with you,” he said helplessly, barely believing his own words.

The truth was, something clearly _was_ wrong with her. He tasted bile in his mouth, choking on the bitterness of what he had done to her. She was the daughter he had sworn to protect at all costs. Hadn't he given his life's blood for her? He'd destroyed his former life, sinking it all to put himself in a position of power so that he might make Elizabeth his again.

He closed his eyes, resting his chin on her head, praying that she would stop crying. He couldn't bear it, to hear the pain that he had caused, to acknowledge that he was holding onto a dream that had turned sour as spoiled milk.

“Dad, I'm scared,” she said, sniffling softly. “I didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry. Doctor Parrilla must think I'm a freak.”

“Doctor Parrilla thinks what I tell him to think, baby girl,” he said, hardness creeping into his voice. No one would look sideways at his daughter if he had any say in it. But Parrilla wouldn't gossip, he was sure of that. The man was circumspect in his dealings with his employer, not likely to risk Raymond Reddington’s ire.

Her whole body went limp after he spoke, relaxing into him but in an exhausted huddle. They sat there for hours, her with her face half buried into his chest and him with his arms securely around her, occasionally moving a hand to caress her face and hair.

Perhaps it was time to reevaluate things. He'd call Kate.


	33. Chapter 33

"Your dad is like...obsessed with you,” complained Jessica as she gingerly held a scalpel between her thumb and forefinger.

Biology class was something else at this school. The facilities were the best Lizzie had ever seen and they were now standing over benches in the science labs, considering the dead frogs lying in a dish in front of each student. They'd only been alive a few hours ago and Lizzie wasn't looking forward to dissecting hers. _Sometimes_ , she thought uncomfortably, _I think maybe psychology instead of medicine might be more my thing._

“I've just really met him this year. We didn't really know about each other and he's still getting used to being a dad,” Lizzie replied apologetically. “He gets a bit overprotective sometimes.”

“Yeah but it's kind of weird,” chimed in Marty from her other side. “One minute he lets you do anything you like and gives you anything you want, then he goes all hardass and won't even let you leave the house after school. What's with that?”

Lizzie sighed to herself. Explaining why her dad had vetoed a trip to Ibiza with her friends was difficult. He didn't even have a reason, just saying no and that he didn't want to hear more about it. But his anxious eyes following her as she left the room told her that he was remembering her temporary flight on the Riviera. She was beginning to feel like a dog brought to heel every time he seemed unhappy with her. So she hadn't pushed it, wanting more than she was willing to admit to keep him happy and continuing to regard her with affection instead of concern.

“As you can all see, your specimen is pinned on its back,” intoned Ms Grant, the biology teacher. “Now, I want you all to use your forceps to lift the skin between the hind legs…”

“Ugh,” groaned Marty under her breath as she inserted the scalpel into the frog’s squishy flesh. “It's just that my older sister will be coming and she's twenty. She'll look after us and she's not gonna let us run riot over the island. Did you tell your dad that?”

“You're doing it wrong,” Lizzie whispered back. “You've gotta make the incision just there,” she pointed to the spot between the hind legs of Marty’s frog. “And then just cut up the middle with the scissors.”

“Thanks,” said Marty gratefully, re-positioning her scalpel.

“What if your dad came,” asked Jessica with a sidelong look at Lizzie. “He can't have any issues then, can he? He'd be able to keep an eye on us.”

Both girls giggled softly at that.

“Jessica, Martina and Elizabeth, is there something you would like to share with the class?”

 _Crap, no, not a chance,_ thought Lizzie, hoping desperately that her friends weren't going to say out loud to the class that her dad was hot.

“No Ms Grant, sorry Ms Grant,” chanted Jessica in a sing song voice which earned her a frown from the teacher.

“Please focus on the task at hand girls. I see you've made two incisions Martina. If you were paying attention, perhaps you would have had it correct the first time.”

“Sorry Ms Grant,” said Marty with a grimace. She _hated_ being called Martina.

For the rest of the day, Lizzie went from class to class with her two friends and the same topic was brought up each time.

The last class of the day was French and it was her least favorite, the subject she struggled the most with. So it was perhaps not a huge surprise that she lost her cool.

“Look, my dad said no,” she hissed under her breath. “End of story, okay? He's not changing his mind and anyway, he has a friend from the U.S. visiting this weekend and I think he just wants me home.”

“Fine,” replied Jessica in a short voice. “Why does he have a different name to you anyway? I would have thought you'd want to change it to Rathers when you went to live with him.”

Lizzie opened and shut her mouth like a fish. She had wondered that the other day when the doctor had called her Miss Milhoan. She knew that the school believed her father to be Kenneth Rathers but the doctor knew who her dad really was, and who she really was. Why hadn't he called her Miss Reddington?

“It's just the way it is,” Lizzie muttered, bending her head over her work again, turning slightly away from the girls. It left a strange lost feeling inside of her, to be unsure of what her own last name should really be.

 

* * *

 

Raymond stood in front of the large mirror in his bathroom, blinking as the early morning sun streamed through the upper window. Shaving cream was thick across his chin and cheek. He leaned forward, concentrating on the precise strokes with the razor, only looking up on hearing Lizzie’s soft tread on the bathroom tiles. He saw her in the doorway from his view in the mirror.

He watched her swallow visibly and take a step further in before speaking in a jumbled and hurried manner.

“How come I can't have your last name?”

Pausing now, in the act of shaving, he stared at her reflection in the mirror. She leaned against the door, arms crossed, a half afraid, half belligerent expression on her face.

He placed the sharpened razor down onto the marble vanity. “It's safer for you to continue to keep Sam’s name. When you're older, if you want to, you can take my name. I don't intend to put a target onto your back Lizzie. My job is to keep you safe.”

It was clear that his explanation didn't satisfy her. She frowned, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. He turned to her, his heart sinking. He didn't feel equipped for another outburst right now. Had this been Sam’s life until this year? How had he maintained fortitude? She was exhausting and not just because of her emotional roller coaster; his depth of feeling for her - at times painful in the extreme - was wearying.

“Just until you're an adult. Can you not see that it's the wisest course of action? How would we explain the number four on the FBI’s most wanted list showing up for parent-teacher meetings?”

“Alright,” she said, taking a big breath, her slight frame puffing up as if she had something further of importance to say and was seeking the courage to come out with it. Her hands were clasped in front of her, a finger rubbing over and over on the raised ridges of her scar.

“Dad,” she said, voice determined with only a slight quaver, “am I annoying?”

His eyebrows shot up and he leaned back against the vanity to get a better look at her. He let his gaze linger on her as she stood in the doorway, shoulders sagging the longer he waited to answer her.

“You're fifteen,” he said, “you're allowed to be annoying.”

She blinked rapidly, a smile spasming across her face. She looked like she'd just received the most terrible news and had to smile for a camera.

“Okay, I just wondered,” she said slowly, moving away and out of his line of sight.

It was some minutes before he turned around again to resume his morning ritual. He felt the tension in his neck and the furrows in his forehead which was beginning to ache persistently. Kate Kaplan was arriving today to meet Lizzie and stay a few days. He hoped like hell that she could help him straighten his steps, at least provide some insight. Even if she had never had children of her own, she'd been an older sister of sorts, a maternal figure to him when he'd been awash with grief at the loss of his estranged wife and oldest daughter. It had been Kate who saved him then from self destruction. He wondered with a tight feeling in his chest if she could do the same again.

He had only a few hours to ponder, or perhaps more accurately, obsess over his relationship with Lizzie and how Kate might assist. Feeling like a school boy waiting for the principal, he wandered uselessly around the library, pulling out books, examining them for a short while and returning them to their shelves.

She arrived in the late morning, a leather suitcase and large green handbag on either arm.

“Raymond, have you been looking after yourself properly without me?” She asked cheerily as she stepped into the house.

“Not in the slightest,” he said, kissing both of her cheeks and embracing her briefly. “Good behavior is overrated. I've been having a ball, health be damned.”

“Of course you have dearie,” she responded dryly. “Take me to the cherub. I've been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

Red turned about to take a step onto the landing of the stair case. “Lizzie, Kate is here. Come down for a moment please.”

Dealing with her thus far had taught him quickly enough that there was every chance that she could be sulking in her bedroom over something or other. He had vetoed a trip to Ibiza recently, uncomfortable with the idea of his daughter amongst the next generation of playboys with their fake tans and young muscled bodies. She had been strangely accepting of his decision and it had caused him some unease. He hoped she wasn't seeking payback now, when she could embarrass him in front of his most trusted friend and associate.

Hearing a few quick thumps above stairs, they both waited for her to come down, stamping heavily as though she weren't a slight girl of fifteen but a herd of elephants instead. He resisted the urge to turn to watch Kate’s face as they both looked up at the stairs, observing Lizzie spilling down them, her long limbs tripping over a step or two in her ungainly haste to reach them.

“Hi,” she said brightly with a hint of awkward reserve.

“Lizzie, this is Kate Kaplan, a dear friend of long standing.” He turned to nod at Kate, “this is my daughter, Elizabeth.”

“He talks of you often,” said Kate with gruff warmth. “I'm so glad to see you two reunited. How are you finding Switzerland dearie?”

“It's really um...Swiss,” Lizzie responded with a smirk.

“Let me take your bags,” interjected Red smoothly. “There's a guest room upstairs just down the hall.

He felt Lizzie’s eyes on him as he took Kate upstairs to her room. When he came down again, she was still standing in the hallway, just waiting absently for them as if she hadn't even realized they'd gone.

“A tour of the house is in order,” said Red with a jaunty tilt of his head as he sized up the two women standing before him. “Let me show you the library and the marvelous kitchen which Bojana, our housekeeper uses to keep us well fed.”

“There's some cool walking tracks behind the house if you like hiking,” said Lizzie unexpectedly.

Kate chuckled, “I do enough moving about in my line of work, I've been told to put my feet up and read a good book,” said Kate, glancing at Raymond as if to inquire if this was still the case.

He clapped his hands together once. “Certainly. A vacation is precisely what you need, my dear, and that you shall have.”

He was pleasantly surprised at how welcoming Lizzie was to their visitor, asking questions at dinner, talking quite animatedly about her interests, jumping from topic to topic like a hyperactive puppy.

“...Well it's supposed to be a great horse trail but I haven't checked it out yet. Dad didn't say you rode.”

“... _Oh_ , I didn't know, he never said you're a medical examiner,” said Lizzie, throwing him a dirty look.

Kate placed her fork on her plate at the dinner table. Bojana had left only ten minutes ago and they were enjoying a roast shoulder of lamb and garden vegetables. Her mouth twitched as though she had obtained Lizzie’s measure fairly quickly.

“Well, I _used_ to be a medical examiner in my youth but I've worked privately for your father for many years now.”

“Did you know my mother,” asked Lizzie quickly.”

Well, he supposed the good behavior was too good to last for long. He cleared his throat. “No, Lizzie, I met Kate some time later. Now, ladies, who would like a spot of French film after dinner with some coffee?” He turned to Kate, pride swelling in his breast, “Lizzie is studying French primarily at school and I thought perhaps a film would be of some benefit.”

Again, to his surprise, Lizzie made no fuss over the arrangement, only curling herself into him on the couch after dinner, her legs twining around his. For a moment, he tensed, wondering what she intended to do in front of Kate but she only lay back into him and ran her cheek once or twice against his as they settled in to watch the movie.

The scene contained the achingly familiar but long lost tinge of family life. It hurt him as much as it gave him pleasure. He tightened his arms around her in the dim light of the small media room, pushing away his fears and self recrimination. He had what he wanted.


	34. Chapter 34

“This year has gone so quickly, more so than ever before,” reflected Raymond as he poured himself and his guest a scotch. They had sequestered themselves in his study after the film while Lizzie went upstairs to catch up on an assignment for school.

“Perhaps you're starting to feel your age, Raymond,” said Kate with a twitch of her lips as she gratefully accepted the proffered glass.

“I'd like to disagree. Lord knows I'd probably have been mightily offended over that a year ago. Being a father full time though...it's...an experience and certainly hard on the body _and_ the mind.”

“Are you happy, Raymond?” Kate asked gravely. “Is she?”

He stood by his writing desk, leaning slightly on the edge of it, sipping his scotch meditatively. It was hard to say if he could ever really be happy. He had lost his first family in a welter of blood and gore, lost his other daughter for a period of ten years and had done things...terrible things that kept him awake at night and churned his stomach for hours, preventing rest, preventing peace.

“When she's near by me, Kate, it's the closest I feel i'll ever get to true happiness.” He huffed a dry laugh. “I don't deserve her at all, or any happiness.”

Kate frowned, setting her glass down on the coffee table next to the couch. “You're too hard on yourself, my friend. You always have been. You're deserving of being her father. You've protected her all these years, gave her a loving and safe home, even if that meant she couldn't be with you.” She raised an eyebrow then. “And I've never known you to be maudlin. You have her here with you now and she's your daughter through and through. Cheek and intelligence and wit shine in her the same way it did with you when we first met.”

He laughed again, this time a genuinely mirthful sound. “When we first met, I'd just stolen state secrets that could have had us both killed. You should have turned me in. Are you saying it was my charm that swayed you?”

“No dearie,” said Kate in amusement, lifting her glass from the table. “I have a good eye for a sure thing. Protecting you until you found your feet paid its dividends, shall we say?”

He nodded his appreciation of her assessment before they fell into companionable silence. Moving across the room, he heaved himself onto the couch beside her with a weary sigh, tossing back the rest of the scotch. Kate kept hers in her hand, sipping at slow intervals.

“What will you do about Sam?” Kate asked eventually, breaking up the relaxed atmosphere.

He felt his forehead tighten with guilt and worry. Sam had been in Italy for months on a fruitless search for Lizzie. He'd been staying in flea ridden hotels, attempting to hire private detectives to assist in the search, but mysteriously -- at least for Sam, at every interview, the detectives turned down the job as though it were a hot coal.

And it was one, at that. You didn't work on either side of the crime world in the south of Italy without learning to fear the name of Raymond Reddington. No one in their right mind would take a job to find him if he didn't want to be found, and he'd made it _very_ plain that he certainly did not.

Raymond’s cheek twitched. “He continues his search in Naples. He moved to Sorrento for a while and seems to be traveling north to Rome. It's a needle in a haystack for him. He won't risk involving local authorities because that would put Lizzie in the firing line.” Raymond hesitated a moment. “I'm considering contacting him, letting him see her. I don't think she will want to leave me, not now, not after…”

“After what?” She prompted.

He smiled tightly. “After everything we've been through. Lizzie has had a struggle adjusting to her life here, and even now after all these months we’re still learning each other. But I have her love, I'm confident of _that_.”

“You still haven't told her I assume?”

“No,” he replied shortly. “If I do decide to tell her, I'll sound Sam out first. He needs to accept the situation as it stands. She belongs to me.”

Kate appeared startled at his words, her mouth pursing into a thin pout. “She belongs to herself, dearie. You've been very single minded in your quest to get her back, but now that she's here, be cautious, Raymond. She's not a _thing_ or an employee to be used or bought.”

“I know that,” he said, irritated at her chiding. “Spare me the lecture Kate, I know my own business quite well.”

She nodded her acceptance of his rebuff. “It seems rude to retreat to bed so early but I'm terribly jet lagged, I'm afraid. I might as well retire now.”

“Yes, I imagine a good lie in tomorrow morning will do the trick. Do you intend to take Lizzie’s offer of a boat ride in the afternoon? She's fair at operating it. Not likely to have an accident in any case.”

“Well then,” said Kate briskly, “I'd be honored.”

They wandered out of the study, heading upstairs only to meet Lizzie on the staircase clad in a light, short sleeved pajama top and bottoms in a pearly pink color. His eyes couldn't help a brief appreciative look at her body, the way the cotton clung to her stomach and waist, her small breasts curving out and straining the top just a little.

“Hey,” said Lizzie, blinking tiredly. “I've had all I can handle of this history report. I'm heading to bed, dad.”

“We were just about to turn in ourselves, sweetheart,” he said affectionately. He enjoyed her most when she was sleepy. She was more cuddly, less prone to prickliness and although he winced to himself to acknowledge it, she was also more compliant. And he did gain some satisfaction when he could bring her to heel.

Lizzie turned back up the stairs leading the way down the hall. When he saw that she was heading directly for his room, his heart gave a massive jolt. She opened the door of the master bedroom, slipping inside and wished Kate a sleepy good night. He turned to observe a hesitation in Kate’s face, a shadow of uncertainty.

“She has nightmares,” he said, keeping it as simple as he could. “Far easier to sleep close to her than have me waking up at 3am to her screams.”

Kate nodded slowly, her hand on the doorknob to her own room. “I see. Well, good night dearie.”

She slipped into the guest room, shutting the door with a quiet click.

 

* * *

 

The next day was a clear and warm Sunday with a light breeze stirring up the water on the lake. It was the perfect weather for the boat trip and Lizzie was quite happy to take Kate down and show off some of her newly earned skills.

“You've got a fine handle on this old girl,” said Kate from her seat next to Lizzie on the boat.

She barely heard her father's friend speak, the wind was rushing in her ears and the motor gave a deep, satisfying purr as she steered them as fast as she had been told she would be allowed to go, creating ripples on the huge lake as they bounced over the water.

“Dad taught me,” said Lizzie breathlessly. “He's really good at it. He's going to teach me to sail over Christmas. We’re going to the Whitsunday Islands in Australia and he said I can visit my friend Marty. Her family lives in New Zealand, you know.”

“And will you be seeing Sam over the Christmas vacation?”

Pain hit Lizzie in the stomach like a closed fist. It was as if Kate had reached into her and pulled out her entrails. She slumped over at the wheel, her hands trembling, almost incapable of holding on. The boat slowed almost to a stop, bobbing randomly in the water as she leaned her head onto the wheel.

“I'm sorry,” she gasped, not wanting to look this strange, blunt woman in the eyes, “I haven't talked about him in a while.”

“Elizabeth, listen to me.” She gently laid her hand on Lizzie’s arm, squeezing her comfortingly. “If you aren't ready to see Sam, perhaps you grandmother and your aunt?”

“No,” said Lizzie, her voice icing over. She pulled her arm away from Kate’s grasp. “None of them wanted to talk to me. They haven't even tried to get in touch. I heard once that aunt June laughed at Sam when he adopted me. She thought it was a dumb idea. And I guess it was.”

“Well now, that's a foolish thing to dwell on. People say all sorts of ignorant things about children before they're old enough to understand. Who told you that? Surely not Sam?”

“A third cousin of some sort,” Lizzie muttered. “It was at a family wedding a few years back and I overheard her saying something to her date about me.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, a look of skepticism on her face and Lizzie suddenly felt really silly. The cousin had been drunk and it wasn't like she'd really known what aunt June had thought anyway. She was only a third cousin, barely family at all and she lived in Wisconsin and Lizzie had only met her twice in her life.

“They haven't tried to call me anyway. I tried calling them. Even dad tried calling. Sam disconnected his phone. He doesn't want me anymore.”

Lizzie said her piece in a flat tone of voice but inside she felt like she was bleeding. Would it ever stop hurting? Every time she thought of Sam’s rejection, the thought that followed was that Raymond would be next. It might only be a matter of time before she became too boring, too ignorant, too annoying to be wanted anymore.

“Well, Raymond certainly loves you, dearie,” said Kate in a crisp but somehow kind voice. “From the moment he placed you with Sam, every move he's made has been to get you back, to make it safe for you to be with him again. All the same, I don't think he'd want you to be unhappy. If there's somewhere else you'd…”

“No!”

Kate blinked, her face giving away only a momentary flash of surprise. “ _He_ thinks you're unhappy. Are you?”

“I think we should go in,” said Lizzie, her back stiffened and her hands tight on the wheel.

They brought the boat back in silently, the only sound accompanying them was the gentle slap of the water against the boat and the birds wheeling and screeching overhead.

Lizzie said little as they traveled back to the house. Kate Kaplan wasn't the type to fill in silence from nerves so for the most part, both of them sat quietly in the back of the luxury SUV as it wound its way into the hills.

As they entered the house, her dad met them, looking unusually relaxed. He had on a plain, short sleeved Oxford shirt and light brown chinos with an apron draped over his arm. He'd kicked his shoes off at some stage and was padding through the hall in his socks.

“Ladies, you might like to freshen up. You have approximately an hour. Dinner is on its way and tonight I will be your chef,” he said with a gently mocking bow.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzie saw Kate smirk. She wondered how well this woman knew her father. They seemed so close, it was as if they were siblings. Kate didn't fear him in the slightest. More than once in the day and a half that she'd been a visitor in their house, Lizzie had heard the older woman scolding him for something or another. She'd been half asleep in bed this morning, giggling to herself over hearing Kate’s opinions on a diamond mine he'd recently invested in. She hadn't been at all impressed and stridently told him so.

“Well then, I'll be downstairs for dinner in the prescribed hour,” said Kate affably. She started to climb the stairs but turned back to Lizzie and winked. “Have you had a meal cooked by your father before, Elizabeth?”

“Not really,” she said dubiously. “Is he any good?”

“The man missed his calling. He should never have bothered with the navy, should have gone straight into a chef’s apprenticeship. Foolish, like all men, letting the sea seduce him.”

“I heard that,” drifted in her father’s voice from the kitchen as they reached the top of the stairs.

Lizzie giggled. It was nice having Kate around. It reminded her of what it was like with Sam when they visited her grandma. Her dad was...he was being very dad like. It made her glow inside. Last night he had held her until she fell asleep and woke her up with sleepy kisses in her hair but that was all. She found herself guiltily wishing it could always be like this.

Without much thought about dressing up for dinner, she ducked into her own room and threw off her shorts and t-shirt and washed her face, running a hairbrush through her wind tangled hair. Deciding what to wear could be difficult because she had so _many_ clothes. Whenever they left town, her dad always took her shopping for new things and if he ducked out in the jet for a day he'd always come back with a pretty scarf or a new pair of earrings, some small bauble to let her know he'd been thinking of her.

Bounding downstairs in her favorite dark blue Levi's and a pretty red t-shirt with white polka dots, she took her place at the dining room table.

“So what's for dinner then? And what happened to Bojana?”

“Pork and cider casserole with parsnip mash and wilted baby spinach, also a chocolate mousse cake for dessert,“ he said grandly. “I can't take credit for the cake. That was kindly made by Celine down at the village bakery, but the main course is my own creation.” He moved about the kitchen, removing his apron and setting their plates down smartly. “I gave Bojana the evening off. I'm sure she appreciates it.”

Just as her dad sat down, she realized she probably ought to have helped set the table as Sam would have expected her to. But they were waited on hand and foot here by the housekeeper. She had no chores, essentially doing what she liked, when she liked, except when she was in school. Uncomfortably, she squirmed on her chair, feeling strangely guilty and...wistful. _What a weird thing to be obsessing about,_ she thought irritably as she picked her fork up.

“So dad,” said Lizzie brightly, “a lot of girls in the village have got these cool belly button piercings and I was wonder-”

“No,” he said in a definite tone. “You're too young for body piercings. It's not legal here for a girl of fifteen.”

“Neither is bribery or money laundering,” she replied sullenly, stuffing a large mouthful of casserole into her mouth before she thought of any more mean things to say. God, he could be so strange, one minute letting her do anything, the next, treating her like she was twelve.

Kate remained silent throughout the exchange, but she spoke now. “I remember a time, I was seventeen and I desperately wanted to go to Woodstock. My parents, well...my mother was a school teacher until she married and my father was an aeronautical engineer. Both very conservative, certainly not the type to allow their youngest daughter to travel interstate to attend some hippie convention, as they called it. Of course, I escaped through my bedroom window one night and piled into a van owned by a college friend. There were eight of us,” she reminisced, “all sleeping in that one van and driving through the day to Woodstock.”

Kate shook her head, marveling at the memories as she tucked into her casserole. “This is delicious Raymond. What have I always said about your culinary talents?”

“Go on,” her dad said dryly. “Were you about to tell us what a wonderful time you had and how wrong your stuffy parents were to prevent you from living your dreams?”

“Well,” replied Kate thoughtfully, “it certainly _was_ a one of a kind event. I can't say I've ever experienced anything like that before. But I did have the misfortune of being robbed at gunpoint at a gas station restroom on the way home. Took me years to get over that. My father spent a lot of money on psychiatrists and I had to delay college for a whole year.”

She raised an eyebrow at them both from across the table. “I suppose there's something to be said for a bit of give and take. I always wondered if it would have happened the same way if my parents had agreed to let my older brother take me.”

“Mm hmm,” her dad said, looking across the table at her. “Lizzie, would you like to play a hand of cards with Kate and I after dinner? Or you could practice on the piano and show Kate what you've been learning.”

“I can do both,” Lizzie responded, content with this arrangement. She'd only just started piano but she had taken to it really well and was enjoying playing for her dad a couple of nights a week. He would lie stretched on a sofa in the living room with a tumbler of scotch in his hand and hum along with her music, keeping his eyes on her, a dreamy smile on his face.

She couldn't help smiling at him as he grinned at her. “I'd like that,” he said with soft eyed affection.

 

* * *

 

Feeling refreshed and relaxed after his shower and a long evening playing cards and listening to Lizzie at the piano, Raymond was more than happy to head to bed later that night.

“School in the morning,” he said quietly to his girl who was sitting in his bed reading a book. She looked up at him, a small frown on her face as she closed her book and set it on the nightstand.

Tensing in anticipation of her irritability, he felt the need to probe a little anyway. “Why so glum?” He asked, peeling back the blankets and slipping into bed beside her.

She turned her lamp off and rolled toward him, her startling blue eyes fixed on his face. Instead of answering, she stroked her hand over his stomach, running her fingers through the trail of hair that ran from his chest to his groin. He responded with his own hands on her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her over on top of him. She sat astride him, looking down into his face, her jaw tensing and working in a way that reminded him of his own mannerisms when he was thinking hard or trying to contain some extreme emotion. She was beginning to mirror him. Not so strange after all. She was his flesh and blood.

“Why can't I have a belly button piercing?” She pleaded. “No one at school would see it.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling in vexation. “Because I don't think a young gi-”

He sucked in a breath.

She had reached between them and stroked him, her fingers circling his cock briefly, stealing speech from his mouth. Her tongue peeked from between her lips as she gazed down at him in concentration, stroking him a second time. This time he had fully hardened.  All it took was her light weight astride him, the sweet smell of her damp hair and her smooth hands caressing him.

Leaning forward, she kissed the corner of his mouth, her minty breath mingling with his. Her eyes were still fixed on his face, the small dear lines of concentration hadn't yet smoothed out on her brow. He reached now to run his thumb over her face.

“The sweetest girl in the world,” he murmured. “Kiss me again.”

She did, as his hands twined themselves in her hair, bringing her down to him for a fiercely gentle kiss. His breath quickened through his nostrils, breathing desperately as he locked his lips to hers, probing her with his tongue, touching her face and hair as though he still couldn't believe this treasure was all his.

He released her only to run his lips down her neck, nibbling at the tender flesh of her throat as he reached for the waistband of her pajama pants, tugging them down her legs. She helped him, kicking them off as he pulled his own sleep pants down, tugging wildly at his shirt, pulling it over his head and rolling her under him. She still had her tank top on but he didn't mind. He reached for the sweet spot between her legs, coating his finger with her wetness and spreading it over her clit. She was whimpering now as she did when he touched her directly there. He still hadn't asked her if she was extra sensitive or just shy about the intimacy.

His excitement was heightened by the way she was responding to him. He had his girl in his bed, willing and open for him, and he couldn't help feeling the same way he had when he had first touched her. She had been so eager to be taught, to be loved in this way. Lately, he had felt as though there was a reticence in her, a troubling doubt in her mind and _of course_ he would stop if he were sure she no longer wanted him in this way. But it had been so subtle, he hadn't been sure. It could just as easily be her issues with Sam or the complexities of becoming a young woman.

She was bucking up onto his hand now, squirming around the bed, her whimpers growing louder. With his other hand he gripped her hip and pushed her down into the bed, holding her in place as he stroked her vulva, his fingers dipped in and out of her in slow, teasing strokes.

“Shh,” he whispered low, chuckling at her helpless responses to him. “You'll wake the whole house.”

“It's just...just...ahh -- Kate,” she gasped, her arms clasped around his neck, pulling him closer to her.

“This is just for you and me, Elizabeth,” he purred into her ear, nipping at her lobe as he trailed kisses down the side of her face, down her neck to her collarbone.

“Dad,” she said, wrapping her legs around his torso. “Are we going to stay here after I finish school?”

He barked a laugh, astounded at the thoughts that flitted through her head while he was playing with her body as he was now. Perhaps he needed to work a little harder at sending her spinning into mindless pleasure. “Whatever your heart desires, my precious girl.”

Her face and neck were flushed a pretty pink that made her skin glow deliciously. Pressing himself to her, he could he feel her heart beating wildly. It made him want to gather her up as his child for a moment, only a moment. But she wasn't frightened, only aroused, and when he was finished with her she would be exhausted and ready to snuggle into him, to fall asleep beside him as her heart slowed, drifting into satisfying dreams.

With infinite gentleness he worked her over with his hands and his mouth, sliding further down her body until he could burrow his head between her legs, his thumbs first at her hips as she lifted herself to him and then sliding along her flat stomach and under her tank top until her breasts were in his palms.

To his surprise, she reached for him, pulling him back on top of her, shaking her head.

“Not...that. It's okay, don't you want to...to put it in?”

Doubt crested over him, a sick wave of feeling and he raised himself over her on his elbows to look at her hard in the dim lamplight, searching her eyes, her face for meaning to her words. “Do you want me to?” He asked quietly.

She nodded with an easy smile, pulling his face down to hers for another kiss.

He smelt lavender in her damp hair as she spread her thighs apart for him. He reached down to fit himself into her, groaning in delight as she gave way to his hardened cock. She was trembling only slightly, her hands gripping the back of his neck fiercely as though she sought to control some small thing about this entanglement.

Thrust after thrust, at first, slow and gentle, giving him leave to explore her mouth, to push her tank top far above her breasts so that he might bite and suckle her.

“Quietly now,” he gasped, responding to her yelps as he slipped a hand between them, rubbing his finger against her clit.

“Please,” she begged, holding onto him so tightly. She clung to him like a child entering a bathing pool for the first time, terrified and fascinated all at once. Trembling with the excitement of new adventures but clinging like a limpet from fear.

It reminded him of his oldest daughter, teaching her to swim at the local pool. The memory surfaced unbidden, the scent of sunscreen, the heat of a late summer afternoon, his daughter timidly wrapping her arms around his neck as he lowered them both into the chlorinated water. Lizzie hadn't even been born then.

His stomach roiled at the memory. Gasping, shaking his head as though he could shake the association loose, he increased his pace, thrusting into her quick and deep. The sounds they were both making weren't soft sighs of pleasure anymore, but harsh gasps for air. Lizzie's eyes were screwed shut and she whimpered when he thrust especially hard inside of her. Her legs and arms still remained tight around his body. Her lips were folded and flat, her chin trembling.

He had _never_ intended to be rough with her. Only the gentlest love making was good enough for his precious girl. But her arms and legs around his body were forcing him to recall the arms and legs of another little girl he had loved. A daughter he hadn't damaged. He didn't want to think of his two little girls in juxtaposition. He just couldn't, not when his eldest had a loving father and mother...and then Lizzie, who deserved no less, had...whatever it was he had become. So, grimly they held onto each other, the bed creaking under his vigorous pace, even moving slightly against the wall. He didn't stop, couldn't stop while his other child’s image was before his face. He needed to climax inside of Lizzie now, release the madness in his head and hold his little girl for comfort afterwards.

“Dad, ow,” she gasped finally, “ow, ouch!”

He froze, gulping in air. She had slipped upwards with the force of his thrusts and her head had hit the wall with a sickening crack, not once but twice.

“Baby,” he cried softly, mortified, all thoughts of his eldest daughter fled. “Are you alright?” He lifted himself off of her, taking her head between his hands to examine her scalp. She twisted like a live fish in his grasp.

“Stop it, get off,” she said with indignation, pushing him away, and in the process of pushing she hadn't realized how close to the edge of the bed she was. She had shoved at him with such force that she pushed herself clean off the bed with another great thump.

If the first thump against the wall adjoining Kate’s hadn't been enough for her to inquire, this one certainly was. Red and Lizzie stared at each other as they both heard the click of the hall light switch. Moments later, a sharp knock at their door.

“Raymond? Elizabeth? I heard a noise.”

Red filled his lungs with air and let it out slowly through pursed lips. “Never mind, Kate,” he called back loudly. “Lizzie had another dream and rolled off the bed. She's fine. Good night.”

There was a pause, but no footsteps indicating that Kate had gone to bed. “Alright then dearie...goodnight.”

They both listened breathlessly as Kate's light steps and the hall light switched off again signaled that Lizzie could now get up off the floor. She hopped into bed shivering, throwing the blankets up to under her chin and staring straight at the ceiling.

“Baby, I'm sorry,” he said contritely. “Let me see your head...please?”

At first it seemed as though she intended to ignore him but she eventually inclined her head toward him and he examined her for any bumps, blood or lacerations. He kissed her lightly on top of the head. “Always gentle with you, sweetheart, I promise,” he whispered into her hair. “You deserve to be treated like the princess that you are.

She turned over onto her belly, giving her head a rueful rub. “Don't you think it's fair that I can get a belly button piercing now?”

His mouth fell open. All the tenderness in his breast evaporated like the familiar morning mist in the mountains. “You can't have what you want all the time, Lizzie. This isn't negotiable.” His muscles contracted in horror. This wasn't the first time she had initiated intimacy with him only to then ask for a favor.

She snorted, her body stiffening against him in annoyance.

“Lizzie,” he said sternly. There must have been something in his voice because her head whipped over to look at him, her eyes wide. “ _Elizabeth_ , I'm not a candy machine. You don't get to just twist the handle and a treat comes out.”

Throwing herself into his arms, she made short work of that theory. “No, daddy, no, I didn't mean it that way, I love you, I love you, you know that, don't you?” She said, looking anxiously into his face. “It's just that…” She lowered her eyes. “Well, I reeeeally want a belly button piercing and it's  _silly_ , saying no-”

“Enough,” he said, trying to keep his odd combination of irritation and amusement from her. “Go to sleep baby. In this, you'll do as you're told.”

She slept eventually, curled in his arms, her body soft and warm against his, her hair drying into small frizzy curls around her head that still smelt of herbs and springtime.

When she woke up for school the next morning, she had a garish, pink bump on her forehead the size of an egg.

  
  
  



	35. Chapter 35

The front door opened and closed with a small squeak, alerting Red to Kate’s return. She had risen early and gone for her usual morning walk, missing breakfast in the Reddington household. He winced thinking of his last name. Perhaps he should make some arrangements to change Lizzie’s name to Reddington after all. It held some risk but Lizzie still seemed so fragile, so unhappy and teary at times. He couldn't think of anything else that would finally convince her that she belonged to him. He felt a particularly heavy guilt after last night. She'd come downstairs for breakfast this morning with that awful bump on her head. He'd waited tensely to see if she was going to do something about it or let it be plainly seen.

Something in him loosened when Lizzie had met him at the front door, ready for school with her bag over one shoulder, a light creamy foundation spread over her face and her hair swept low, directly over the egg shaped bump.

Whatever she felt about last night, they were on the same team.

He had kissed her goodbye with those thoughts in his head, forcing back the uneasy hind thoughts that accused him when he let himself slow down enough to truly examine their relationship.

Red waited for Kate to arrive in the kitchen, feeling a warm regard for his old friend as she entered.

“Hello, dearie,” said Kate somberly, taking off her coat and hanging it over the back of a chair. She sat across from him, her hands in her lap, her lips pursed as though she were about to say something unpleasant.

“Coffee or tea?” He asked brightly, rising from his chair and crossing the kitchen to put the kettle on.

She looked down her nose at him over the top of her glasses. “Tea will be just fine.”

Pulling two teacups from the overhead cupboard above the kitchen sink, he spoke aloud, thinking that whatever Kate was disturbed by, she'd best get it out in the open. He deliberately calmed the sudden pounding in his chest with small, slow breaths. “Something on your mind?” He enquired lightly.

“As a matter of fact, there is. Raymond, I'm not sure it's appropriate to sleep in the same bed night after night with Elizabeth. She's a teenager and-”

“Kate, I'm a father, I have been a father twice over. I'm not perfect,” he said grimly. “But I love and cherish Elizabeth more than anything on god's green earth and if she wants to sleep near to me at night, I'm not going to make a fuss over it. I certainly expect that you won't either.”

If it were at all possible, Kate's lips thinned even further and her eyes narrowed as Red spooned tea leaves into a teapot and turned to put the milk and tea strainer on the table with a thump. He stared across the table at her as the kettle started to whistle, neither of them making a move to turn it off.

“Does she though?”

“Does she what?” He repeated flatly.

Kate sighed, tossing her head irritably, her fingers drumming an impatient tattoo on the surface of the heavily carved dining table. “Don't play word games with _me_ , Raymond. You know better than that. Does she want to sleep in the same bed? How did this come about? Have you encouraged her to try her own bed for a while? Have you thought about what her friends at school might say if they were to find out? You don't set any boundaries for her and-”

“I certainly did last night and _thank_ you for the back up on that by the way. Your little story really didn't help matters.”

“Would you stop interrupting me for a moment and listen to me Raymond? For _god's sake,_ you asked me here to see if I could help her with her adjustment to life with a new family in a new country. Well, let me tell you, sleeping in the same bed as your teenager is not healthy. I'm not accusing you, I'm just telling you to be mindful of appropriate developmental behaviour. And another thing, she's not four anymore, the way you encourage her to drape herself all over you is no longer age appropriate. She shouldn't be sitting in your lap at her age. You are the parent Raymond, it's your job to set these boundaries and do it in way that reassures her that you care for her and are not rejecting her.”

The kettle was still whistling. He felt the blood draining from his face as he heard these damning words from his most trusted friend. She wasn't correct, not entirely. Perhaps some of it. Perhaps he needed to provide her with more boundaries but she needed…

His mind stuttered away from what she needed. He turned to take the kettle from the stove and silently poured boiling water into the teapot.

He owned an apartment in the U.S. Just a small, poky little flat where he could store his mother's and his grandmother’s things. When he had decided to take Lizzie back, he'd planned to set up a home for them and part of that had been pulling out some of his mother’s crockery, her tea cosys and table cloths. It made him feel a part of something good and he hadn't felt that since he'd left to enlist in the navy. Life had become complicated very quickly after that.

He stared down at his favourite tea cosy now, picking the pot up with both hands and placing it between them at the table, taking his seat again.

“I wanted you here because she needs a woman's influence. I can't be everything to her, as much as I'd like to be. I want you to talk to her, be her friend,” he said, keeping the pleading tone out of his voice with iron effort. He studied her as he poured the fragrant tea into his grandmother’s old tea cups -- the ones with the red breasted robins in flight along the side.

“Milk?”

“Just a dash, thank you Raymond.”

Splashing the milk neatly into both tea cups, he sighed and leaned back, leaving his own cup untouched on the table. “She was here Kate. When Perrett came to the house,”

Kate's cheeks hollowed and her jaw tensed as though she had bitten the inside of her mouth hard. “You young fool,” she hissed, “what did she see?”

“Only Perrett begging for his life,” Red responded coolly. “I rushed her upstairs and I don't believe she saw or heard anything else that she shouldn't have.”

Taking a gulp of her tea, Kate hunched over at the table, looking for all the world like a disgruntled goblin, her face scrunched up in disapproval, lips pursed in sour annoyance. She set her cup down again gently. “I'll stay the rest of the week,” she said abruptly. “I'll talk to Elizabeth and see what I can do. But you do make messes...wherever you go. There's a possibility you should have waited until she was an adult. Or visited regularly rather than stealing her away. I _told_ you at the time it was too-”

“Excellent,” he broke in with brittle cheer.

 

* * *

 

 

A week later and Raymond was half convinced that he almost regretted inviting his friend to stay. He'd tried suggesting to Lizzie that she sleep in her own bed for the rest of Kate’s visit, his heart heavy with the hypocrisy. He wanted her in his bed, for his own selfish reasons, and as he watched Lizzie socialize with Kate and finally bring her friends home, his mind began to allow himself to see the pictures of how selfish he had been. Fragmented pictures at first, little stabs of guilt that grew like a cancerous tumour in his belly and throat.

He hadn't even been successful in convincing her to sleep in her own room either. She'd obeyed the first night he'd asked, giving him woeful looks, clutching Lola in her arms as she disappeared into her room. It hadn't been any use. He'd woken up in the morning to find Lizzie and Lola curled up on the end of his bed, her head resting against his legs like a pillow. He refused to do that again to her.

He had to stop. That was all. He had to stop this intimacy that had consumed them both.

It was like voluntarily weaning oneself off heroin. He couldn't convince her to stay in her own bed now and it was his own fault. He'd been the one to desire her by his side at night. But he could convince himself to let her alone. To a certain degree anyway. He made a deal with himself. If he could just touch and kiss, he wouldn't have penetrative sex with her.

To his surprise, she was delighted with this unspoken arrangement. He had half expected her to feel rejected by him but his hands caressing her were welcome. She grew happier in his company and at night she didn't seem so jittery, becoming more receptive, enjoying the time in the hours before bed, spent petting between the sheets.

He sat at the piano in their large living room on the Friday afternoon, watching Lizzie mess around on the rug in front of the fireplace with her friends. Lizzie had invited Jessica and Marty over for a sleepover and the three girls were currently giggling over a trashy teen magazine on the floor across the room as Kate watched on benignly, seated comfortably in an armchair in the corner. She had a book in her hand which she had been reading on and off for the last hour, occasionally glancing up as gales of laughter erupted from the corner the girls were in.

“Jonathan Taylor Thomas, _of course_ ,” sang Jessica with the light brown hair. “I'd just die if I ever met him.” She grinned, rolling over onto her back with the magazine held high over her head.

“Nope, totally Leo DiCaprio for me,” disagreed Lizzie gleefully, snatching the magazine and spreading it open to a different page.

“Hey!” Jessica squealed and the girls tumbled across the rug, fighting playfully over the magazine.

Red noted that the other one, Marty, was coolly stretched across the rug, lying back on her elbows, giving him covert glances. He swallowed uneasily. He knew that look. He'd caught it in Lizzie's eyes many times before. He was aware that he'd garnered a reputation for being a ‘cool dad’ at Lizzie’s school, which wasn't really hard, given the majority of fathers were weak chinned investment bankers playing with their grandfather’s money or doddering older men on their second or third marriages who had children with their much younger trophy wives. The only other fathers like him were one or two world famous sportsmen and a former B list actor from the early eighties.

He ceased the absent tune he'd been playing at the piano. “I think I smell pizza. I believe Bojana is ready for you lot to head into the dining room.”  The girls heaved themselves from the floor with remarkable speed in response to his words and hurtled out the door toward the smell of garlic bread and pepperoni pizza, giggling and whooping chaotically.

The room was empty and silent save for the almost grown Lola lounging on the back of the sofa, a steady purr rumbling from her glossy grey throat. She'd had her eyes fixed nervously on Lizzie while she'd been in the room but now that she'd left for dinner, Lola slowly raised herself on all fours, neatly padding down the sofa and lightly leaping onto the ground, leaving the room with a haughty tail in the air, off to find her mistress.

That's a one woman cat if I ever saw one,” muttered Kate, turning another page of the book that she wasn't really reading.

“So, you're leaving tomorrow,” said Red, ignoring her comments on the cat. She'd clearly picked up that he hated to share Lizzie with anyone...even a damn cat. “We shall miss you. You've at least convinced Lizzie to bring her friends around to check we’re not dragons here.”

“Oh I think we’re still dragons in a way. Certainly a threat to those around us. We always have been Raymond. This is the life. It's what you signed up for.”

His lips opened slightly in shock. “Are you saying I'm a threat to Elizabeth? That I can't offer her a family? Safety? Opportunities?”

Ruefully, his friend shook her head, her straight brown bob swinging slightly. “Perhaps I've said too much... or not enough at all. I don't know Raymond. I’d follow you anywhere, you know that. I've...I've cleaned up the bodies of friends and remained loyal to you because I knew you _always_ had good reasons for everything you do. So I wonder why I'm uncertain of that now?”

Raymond stood up stiffly from the piano, pushing the seat back with a sharp squeak. “You should come in for some pizza if you're hungry,” he said curtly, leaving the room with a miasmic air of offence trailing behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

The day after Kate left was a strangely empty one. Raymond Reddington was used to filling his time with either work or pleasure. He wasn't one to idle to the point that a head full of regrets was easily able to take foothold but this time he found himself alone on their rambling property, sitting disconsolately under an oak tree in the side garden of the house. Lizzie had set up a little wrought iron table and two chairs under the tree and a free standing hammock where she had spent hours translating French or reading for her English literature class with Lola purring contentedly on her chest.

Instead of keeping busy, monitoring threats that were still ever present to a retired crime lord, he found himself slumped in the hammock for some hours, mulling over his decisions and their consequences since he had first set eyes on his teenage daughter’s face.

He recognised now, the pull he had felt on seeing her crouched tensely in Sam’s ratty old armchair. He had failed to recognise it for attraction, thinking only that he was marvelling at seeing his daughter again. He thought back to watching her in a bikini, his groin tightening uncomfortably at the sight of his little girl - all curves and porcelain skin.

She had smelled irresistible too, her clean scent, reminiscent of alpine peaks despite her midwestern upbringing. Oh, of course he knew that chemicals and hormones had played havoc because it was as if she had been designed to tempt him, to make him want her obsessively.

The way she tilted her chin and grinned at him, the way she held her hands on her hips and cocked her head when she was angry, her very breath in his mouth was too sweet for words. All of this, all his and he could have it forever if he really wanted. It might cost him his few friends. Kate wouldn't condone it. He'd seen it in her eyes as she stepped into the car to begin her journey back to New York. She had known, or at least strongly suspected. There was love and friendship enough between them that he thought she might still stand by him if he gave Elizabeth up now, gave up everything he desired in the world.

How could his whole life be wrapped up in one small person. One delightful little ball of hormones and passions and love.

He stayed there all morning in the hammock thinking, moving in the afternoon to the table that sat under the spreading green oak tree. He was still there when the SUV rolled up the winding driveway into the carport that housed several of the vehicles he owned. He looked up to see Lizzie jump out and catch sight of him under the tree. She shouldered her school bag and instead of walking into the house, she ran over to him, dumping her bag on the table and giving him a kiss on the cheek as she threw herself across him, into his lap.

“You look sad, Daddy,” she whispered into his ear, giving him another lingering kiss.

“Oh, I've only been thinking...of this and that. You know me by now sweetheart. Give me too much time alone and I'll worry myself into an early grave,” he teased, jostling her lightly on his knee as she clung to him.

We've been doing the Iliad at school today,” she offered quietly. I know you love this kind of thing. Will you read a bit of it to me tonight after dinner?”

“Oh yes,” he said, pulling her in for a hug, nuzzling his nose into her neck and breathing in her slightly sweaty schoolgirl scent. “I would love to, my precious girl.”


	36. Chapter 36

Lizzie slammed the front door hard enough to make the windows in his study rattle. He had been keeping himself busy since Kate had left a few days ago, planning a small trip into London and Belfast which would keep him occupied for a few days at least. The security here was the best but he was still nervous leaving Lizzie for so long. And now she had come home from school upset. It was disquieting.

He left his comfortable leather chair, swiftly following the noise of her polished black school shoes as they tramped up the stairs. He could hear her sniffling up a sob or two.

“Lizzie! Why are you crying?”

She froze on the stairs and turned back to him, one hand clutching the banister until her knuckles were white, her face screwed up and blotchy. His stomach tightened painfully at her anguished expression.

It seemed as if the both of them bounded toward each other; her down the stairs and him up them. They met halfway and he engulfed her in a fierce hug.

“Tell me what's upset you,” he growled dangerously. “Let me fix it, my precious girl. It's what I'm here for, remember?”

She blinked her tears away, ducking her head into the crook of his arm. “Everyone's talking today about getting their learning permits to drive next year. Most of the American chicks are going back home to get them. My d-Sam was going to teach me how to drive,” she said tearily, her voice getting higher and higher. “He was going to show me how to drive his truck and now I'll never-” she broke off, horrid sobs choking the rest of her words.

He drew her further into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head, hands gently stroking her back. “He's not the only one who has driven before,” he said dryly. “I’ll teach you.”

“When do you ever drive?” She wailed, renewed sobs pouring out of her.

His heart pinched. He _could_ drive, but he rarely did. There was no need. Truthfully, he'd rather hire someone to teach her but he could see that wasn't the problem. And he had no solution for this.

Not for the first time, he wondered as he gazed up the stairs into the empty hallway, just what a dark thing it was that he had done.

 

* * *

 

It took a week longer. A week to struggle against his baser instincts. Surely he was bleeding, it was as if he had carved his own heart out and was sitting there, a dead heart housed only in beastly flesh, nothing left of him that mattered. He had lost a child before and felt terrible grief, wrenching guilt for the path he had taken that had put his eldest daughter in harm's way. This was entirely different though. It hadn't been _his_ hands at his strawberry blonde daughter’s throat, not his actions that had ended her life in their family home. This was his will, his own body had violated his youngest daughter. He had called it love but had known from the very first moment that he had broken something in her, something more than a simple string of flesh.

This wasn't love. It could have been if he hadn't been so desperate to recreate the family he had lost. His desires had seemed right to him, as though if she could only see that he was far older and wiser and adore him as he was used to being adored by all sorts of women across the globe, then she could be happy because he would adore her in return ten fold.

How could that fail to content her?

“Am I so arrogant,” he muttered. “Even now though, perhaps…”

No. He had to send her away. Every atom in his body, every particle in his soul was screaming out that it didn't need to be like this. He could fix it, he still had time. But he knew in his heart that he had destroyed his only chance at happiness. He would send his reason for living away from him one final time and never see her again. She would return to a home where she was cared for in the proper way.

It would be so much easier if he could excuse himself, but his reasoning was crumbling, he could barely remember what his justification had been. Her eyes, the way she'd look up at him, her chin tilted at an endearing angle, her innocence perhaps? She was a sponge, willing to soak up his love and wisdom and she'd eagerly soaked up anything he'd given her, reckless of the fact that he'd offered her nothing but poison. Would she ever recover? He didn't know.

He rose from his chair before Lizzie returned from her riding lesson, feeling diminished, like an old man as he crossed the kitchen and walked the halls to his study. Despite his grief at what he must do, his mind was already whirring. There were plans to be made, her school enrollment would need to be cancelled, transcripts sent to Sam, her belongings packed up and shipped home. He wondered with a sickening lurch as he picked up the telephone, if Sam would guess what he had done. His hands trembled slightly as he dialed. Perhaps Lizzie would tell him herself.

“Hello,” he croaked into the phone, clearing his throat. “This is Kenneth Rathers. I'm calling to cancel my daughter’s enrollment.” He paused, listening to the dismay of the administrator. “No, we intend to move back to the States. I'll need her transcripts by the end of the week. Yes, thank you. That will be fine.”

 

* * *

 

It was after six when Lizzie came home, tramping through the house, her usual noise levels somehow not giving him the twinge of annoyance he tended to feel as she stomped on the polished wooden floors. It wasn't something he'd thought about until hearing her move around the house but he realized he couldn't stay here. Why would he? He'd return to the life suitable for the concierge of crime of course. The memories would be far too painful anyway. Being alone in this large house would be intolerable.

“Dinner is ready,” said Bojana, appearing from the kitchen with a dark green apron on, folding a tea towel up and beaming at him. “Is there anything else?”

“No, Bojana, thank you,” Red said distractedly from the door of his study. He'd spent hours slumped at his desk, drinking glass after glass of cognac until his senses fuzzed enough for the sharp pain to dull. He'd stopped an hour ago though, realizing with breathtaking force that this was to be his last night with Elizabeth. He wanted to be sober. Every moment must count.

As Bojana took her apron off and bid her goodbyes, he stood at the bottom of the stairs, knowing that Lizzie had heard Bojana call out that dinner was ready. He felt ill prepared if this was to be their last shared evening meal.

There she was then, at the top of the stairs. Everything was different. She hadn't changed her riding clothes, other than to remove her boots and run a hairbrush through her hair. Normally that would have irked him, his desire for tidy dress clashing with her teenage carelessness but now he smiled fondly up at her. “Dinner might get cold,” he said, almost alarmed at the softness he heard in his own voice as he watched her descend. She mustn't know, he was sure she would cling to him fiercely if she were to be told. It would be too much to see her distress. He knew in the deepest part of himself that if he told her what he planned to do, he could never go through with it. She would weep and claw at him and he wouldn't be able to tear himself away.

“Man,” said Lizzie, looking out the kitchen window at the grey drizzling skies, “I wouldn't want to be Bojana driving home in _that_. It looks like a storm is coming in don't you think?”

“Never mind, I'm sure she'll be home in time before the storm gets bad,” he said placatingly, taking her by the shoulders gently and steering her into the dining room. He pulled her chair out with his usual casual courtesy and she dimpled up at him in silent thanks.

“Hey dad,” Lizzie began with a slightly nervous whine in her voice as he took his seat close beside her, “you know how you gave me one of your credit cards the other day to go and get some new clothes?”

“Hmmm?” He asked distractedly running a hand caressingly across her shoulder, leaning into her slightly before he even realized it..

“Well, listen it was just us girls but we also met up with Marty’s brother and a few guys from school and there were these helicopter joyrides in town and I dunno how it happened. I honestly didn't mean to but everyone was so excited and I just ended up paying for it with your card,” she finished with a whoosh of breath and a quick look at his face before glancing down at her dinner with hunched shoulders.

“I see,” he said in mild amusement. “And how much did your err...fun set me back?”

The silly goose was fiddling with her napkin, her eyes still trained on the steak, garlic beans and Lyonnaise potatoes resting on her plate.

“Almost five thousand dollars by the end of the day,” she said in a rush. “I’m sorry, I know I should have asked and I'm not...I mean, I've never done anything like that before. I don't take money from people. I can pay you back,” she faltered, her eyes finally rising to look at his.

He barked a laugh. “Temptation takes a very specific sort of satisfaction in drawing in those who think they are above such things, who think they are immune. I often think of temptation as a lady, a clever one, far cleverer than I.” He tilted his head to get a better look at her face. “I understand, love. Better than you suppose.”

Her eyes brightened. “So you aren't angry?

How could he be angry at her tonight? No, she could fritter away his wealth, his reputation and he would still love her, still treasure her. That didn't matter though. The only thing that mattered was Lizzie's health and happiness. She had neither.

He quashed his own temptation, a passing impulse to throw himself at her feet and beg her to start again, where she might be his child and obey him and he might be her father again and only love her as a father should. If he thought he could keep to that oath, he might really have done it. But he knew himself now, knew that in this, he had no control. He was not to be trusted.

With a dry mouth and a low voice he spoke, “I'm not angry at you, sweetheart. You could easily have asked me and I would have given it to you though.”

There, he was doing it again, enticing her to stay with him and she wasn't even aware he was sending her away! His mind was a murky morass of lies and tangled thoughts. He had to be careful not to be cruel. How could he show her his love for her tonight, on their last night together, without making tomorrow more bitter than it had to be?  


* * *

 

In the end, perhaps he was cruel. He didn't have it in him to be distant with her. It would have hurt her, to have a memory of her father on their last night together as distant and cold. There were no words to explain why he had done the things he had and no words to explain what he was doing now.

It would hurt her for a while, to have no understanding of why he loved her so fiercely on their last night together and then sent her away. But it would be a bittersweet hurt, a clean wound, not a festering poison in her veins.

“Lizzie,” he said a little hoarsely hours later as the storm raged outside, battering against the thin, old window panes. “Will you lie still with me for a little. Right here, just with me.”

He sat on the bed, showered and shaved, his teeth brushed and grey pajamas donned, making no movements to indicate he wanted her to take her clothes off, nor did he take his own off. “I feel...nostalgic tonight. Indulge me, I'd like to tell you a story or two.”

“About my mother,” she asked eagerly, bouncing onto the bed and crooking her legs in front of her to rip her socks off and throw them across the floor. She turned to him with eyes brimful of hope and innocence, her own pajamas making her look even younger than she was, clothed in a long sleeved pastel blue top and sleep pants with little dark blue hearts dotted across them.

He had meant to spin a pretty cobweb about her future, share some of the dreams he'd had for her since she'd been a baby, but that look on her face dried the words in his throat. He wouldn't be selfish with her, not tonight. She thirsted for stories of her mother, of her family before it had all been torn from her.

She could have this one thing.

“That sounds like something I can manage,” he said comfortably as she lay stretched out facing him on the bed, propping her head up on one hand and looking up at him adoringly. He stretched out with her, bending down to give her a swift kiss on the nose. “Shall I tell you about your imaginary friend when you were three?”

“Billy!” She yelped excitedly. “I remember Billy! When did I stop believing in him? I don't even remember.”

Red shifted his body to a more comfortable spot and flung an arm across Lizzie’s middle. “No,” he said thoughtfully, glancing at her, “I don't remember when you stopped believing in him either. Perhaps you still did when...well anyway, you were almost four, I think your birthday was only a few months away and I'll be honest with you sweetheart, we didn't have a lot of money at the time and your mother was a target for a lot of dangerous people...so we kept you two moving through a network of safe houses. Of course that didn't give you the opportunity to befriend any other children your own age so I remember coming to visit one day and instead of little feet scampering to the door as soon as the doorbell was rung, I found myself going in search of _you_.

Lizzie giggled. “Was I playing with Billy then?”

“You were,” he responded in mock indignation. “Kat- your mother could be possessive of you at times and I suppose it irked her to see you so eager to be with me on my short visits so she had quite a laugh at that. Instead of being the center of your universe that day, I was required to sit down at your midget sized table and take tea with you and Billy. I remember you were quite impressed with his conversation and manners and much less so with mine. He was rewarded with an extra slice of imaginary cake, as I recall,” finished Red, his heart bumping in his chest at the way his daughter’s face drank in every detail. Such an innocuous story but she lapped it up as though he were spilling state secrets. Really, he'd been miserly with her, sharing only crumbs here and there of her half remembered childhood. He'd told himself it was for her safety but as he watched her face now, he wondered bitterly if perhaps he'd been too guilty to share freely with her, if his own pain and reluctance to relive the past had played more of a role than he had been able to admit.

“I think I remember him when I was with Sam,” Lizzie said dreamily, her eyes unfocusing a little. “I had...terrible nightmares and Sam would come and sing me to sleep. When he went back to his own bed he used to tell me that it was okay because Billy was watching over me, I could go back to sleep and be safe.” She looked away from him wistfully. “I wonder why I can't remember when I stopped believing. He just sort of...faded away.”

Red patted her hand, seeking to hold it, rubbing his thumb over her scar. “Our mind tends to supply us with what we need.” He smirked at a sudden though that had popped into his head. “Although, I'm not sure what I think of Sam allowing boys into your bedroom at that age, even if they were imaginary ones!”

Lizzie laughed wholeheartedly, rolling her face into the pillow as she giggled. When she surfaced to look at him again, her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Billy was a _goat_ ,” she chortled. “Get it? Billy goat?”

Such a small and silly detail and yet he lay there with her face so close to his and felt affronted for a split second before realizing how ridiculous the situation was. “Well,” he grumped, reaching to brush a tendril of hair back from her face,” I'm not sure how he always got the extra piece of cake. I'm quite certain I had better manners than a goat.”

  
  
  
  



	37. Chapter 37

Lizzie trailed after her father unthinkingly. He did this sometimes, not often but sometimes when she wasn't at school and he didn't want to leave her at home he would take her out places and wouldn't tell her where they were going or what they were doing. Sometimes he'd meet with someone to exchange a few words or receive a package, sometimes he just sat on a bench and read the newspaper until it seemed like he found something in the paper he'd been searching for. He'd nod to himself decisively and stand up, leaving at a purposeful pace with her scrambling to follow him.

He turned to her now, a strained expression on his face. “Wait here,” he said.

“Okay,” she agreed trustingly, turning to sit on a bench near the fountain in the middle of the plaza.

She wondered why he looked so stressed. Was he going to meet someone dangerous today? He wouldn't have brought her along if he was, surely?

Her mind wandered, scanning the crowd disinterestedly. Maybe he'd come shopping with her at the mall in the next town over after he was finished. He usually avoided malls, his opinion of mass produced cheap crap was fairly low. He didn't get that sometimes it was fun to window shop.

Ten minutes passed quickly. Where was he? He was never more than ten minutes when he left her to her own devices.

It was then that Artie approached her.

“Elizabeth, you need to come with me,” he said expressionlessly, his body looming in an unusually stiff way.

“Why? Where's my dad?” A stab of cold fear lanced through her. What was happening? He never had his security collect her on one of these outings.

“Mr Reddington has instructed me to escort you home. Come with me now please,” he said, gripping her upper arm firmly.

She jerked her arm away from him. “Did he go home? Where is he? Why hasn't he come back for me?” She bit out, her voice going all squeaky in panic.

“I’ll tell you more in the car,” he offered. “But you need to come with me.”

She looked around her. All these people and not one of them was the face she wanted to see. Her eyes rested again on Artie. He was her dad’s head of security, often her personal bodyguard. She could trust him. Her dad had said so many times.

“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “But in the car, you'd better tell me what's going on!”

She trotted after him as they took an escalator to an underground car park. A dark grey sedan awaited them, the engine purring to life as soon as they got within five paces. The driver had been on the lookout for them.

She ducked her head as she clambered into the back of the car. Artie got in from the other side.

“So where's my dad?” She asked belligerently.

“Wait,” was all he said as the car pulled out and left the underground car park.

It was only when they turned onto the highway that he looked at her again. “I've been instructed to escort you home. You won't be seeing Mr Reddington again,” he said, his voice not so expressionless now. There was a hint of...pity in his eyes.

“So you're kidnapping me,” she said calmly. This was okay, her dad had told her what to do in cases like this. She had to stay steady and take note of everything around her. It concerned her a little that it was his most trusted man doing this but he'd come for her, he'd find her.

He shook his head sorrowfully. “No, my instructions are from Mr Reddington. You're to return in the jet to Nebraska,” he went on mercilessly. “I'm...sorry,” he said, as though his pity would make it easier to bear, would explain why her dad was doing this.

“I don't understand,” she said numbly. “Is he in some sort of danger? Am I? Is he trying to protect me? Because I'm safest with him, I know I am,” she insisted heatedly.

Artie hesitated at her questioning, his forehead wrinkled and his eyes looked sad. He put his hand on her shoulder.

No, she wasn't having that. “Don't touch me!” She spat, drawing away from him. “Tell me what's going on!”

“Elizabeth, I'm sorry, this is all I've been told. You're to return to Nebraska, and Mr Reddington will be out of contact for a few days. I haven't been briefed on where he's going. I haven't been told why either.” He stopped now, his lips pressed thinly together. “I believe this is for good though. I don't think he's coming back. I know he's made arrangements to cancel your enrollment at school.”

She sat back on the seat, feeling an awful lot like she was dying. This couldn't be happening. He  _had_ to want her. He was her dad. How could breathing be so painful all of a sudden?

No. This was a lie. She was being kidnapped and he was lying to her to ensure her compliance. She leaned further away from the bodyguard, her heart beating wildly in her chest and her lungs begging her for air.

She had to take steady breaths. She had to calm down if she was going to escape.

She sat frozen for the entire car ride, her back ramrod straight. Waiting for an opportunity.

It came while they were almost at the small airport. They'd taken her all the way out to a rural airstrip. Only a village was nearby, but she spoke basic German and French now. Enough to get help if she could only make it to a house.

As the car slowed and passed through the security gates, before it had even stopped, she leaped for the door, tumbling to the ground. She righted herself, stumbling away, ignoring her grazed knees, adrenaline pouring into her, pumping through her. She had to get away, find help. If she could just get to a phone, call her dad’s cell, he’d come for her, with all the weight of his syndicate and reputation behind him.

She ran and ran, her legs carrying her faster than she'd ever gone. She was far fleeter of foot than the muscular bodyguard. He might be strong but she was fast.

And she would have made it, except for the gate. Her eyes were so blurred with fear, she'd run almost directionless, her brain just telling her that she had to get away, far and fast. The gate loomed up in her vision. She had a few seconds of indecisive panic before she decided to scale the wire fence. It was the only way.

But those few seconds cost her. Artie caught up to her, pulling at her foot. She was so close but he was so strong. He tugged at her leg with an almighty wrench of his muscled arms and she toppled off the fence, falling hard to the ground, all air leaving her lungs.

She wept, she couldn't help it. She'd been so close and he was going to kill her or hide her away somewhere and her dad might not find her in time.

He sat on her, forcing her arms behind her back. “I'm sorry,” he gasped out. “I'm so sorry, blossom, but I have my orders.”

“You're going to kill me,” she wailed. “My dad will kill you if you do, he'll _find_ you.”

“Elizabeth,” he shouted at her. “Sit still, I'm going to call him now.”

She stopped struggling, a different kind of shock working its way through her. He wasn't serious, he couldn't be telling the truth.

Her dad _loved_ her.

Artie held her down still with one powerful arm and fished his cell phone out of his pocket with the other hand, dialing a number.

“Mr Reddington,” he said, still breathless.

“Is there a problem?” She heard the terse words, they were her dad's words, hitting her in the gut, freezing the thoughts still running through her head.

Artie had turned speakerphone on.

“A small one sir. She ran at the airport, I've had to subdue her. She's a little dinged up.”

“A little dinged up?” He repeated, his voice deepening in displeasure. “If she's hurt, you'll be answering to me, Artie. Tell me she's not hurt.”

“Dad!” She shrieked. “Help me! What's happening?”

“Christ,” he cursed, “call me when she's delivered Artie. That little stunt has cost you.”

The line went dead.

She didn't really see anything around her as he hauled her up off of the hard ground. She was crying too hard to see. Her body felt like it couldn't contain the grief. She felt hollowed out, empty and so full of fear and loneliness at the same time.

What had she done? Why was this happening?

He'd told her that he loved her. He'd planned a life for them.

He led her, stumbling, unresistant, onto the plane. He seated her on a chair. She barely noticed.

The fugue lasted for hours. An attendant with a trolley of food came out but she shook her head mutely as she was offered plate after plate. Artie silently removed a slice of key lime pie and placed it in front of her. She turned her head away.

“You should eat,” said Artie, concern again etched across his face.

“I'm not hungry,” she said dully, wrapping her arms around herself. It felt like she'd never be hungry again, never feel anything but this heavy stone in her stomach and throat again.

He cleared his throat. “Your...adoptive father is still in Europe, so we’re taking you to your grandmother’s house. Your belongings are in the hold.”

Her head snapped up at that. “Still in Europe?” She repeated blankly. “What do you mean?”

He spread his hands out. “That's all I've been told. He's in Europe but your grandmother will be home to receive you.”

“I'm not a _package_.”

“I know you're not,” he sighed sadly.

She let the silence stretch for a bit. She might not have any feelings left in her but she was fair minded. “I hope I haven't cost you your job,” she said in a croaky voice.

He snorted at that. “Nah, as long as you're safe, the worst he’ll do is dock my pay.”

She winced. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” he said grimly. “ _I'm_ sorry...Lizzie...can I call you Lizzie?”

“Sure” she said. What did it matter. What did anything matter really.

“Well, Lizzie, it was worth it. I hope…” he flicked a guilty look at her, “I hope your folks in Nebraska treat you better than this. This was shabby,” he said indignantly.

Her eyes welled up again. “It's not shabby,” she choked out. “Don't talk about my dad that way. It's me. I must have done something really bad.”

And it felt like she’d only just been told all over again, the painful burning in her chest, the leaden weight in her stomach, the grief a solid thing clawing it's way up her throat and windpipe.

What did she do?


	38. Chapter 38

Artie walked Lizzie to the door. He didn't need to steer her, to grip her arm. She followed him woodenly just as she had off the plane and into the waiting car, her eyes dry, her brain a mess of white noise. It was all she could do to remember to put one foot in front of the other.

Her grandmother's house was an old, red brick building, with a lovely front garden, filled with apricot trees and flowering shrubs. Her assortment of herbs and vegetables grew down the side of the house. Lizzie had loved helping weed that garden when she'd come to spend vacations with her. She still had a pair of heavy, canvas gardening gloves in the back shed. Unused now and probably too small.

But she had treasured those summer vacations.

Artie knocked on the door and her grandmother opened it as if she'd been waiting for the knock. Her soft, wrinkled face crumpled a little. She ignored the large, suited man standing on her doorstep, her eyes seeking out her granddaughter.

She stretched her arms out, “Lizzie, honey,” she cried thankfully, taking a step forward, brushing past Artie and folding Lizzie into her arms.

“Grandma,” she choked, her voice clotted with the tears that had been waiting for this moment. It didn't feel like she could have stepped into her grandmother's arms first and she was so _glad_ , so thankful that she had made the first move. “Grandma, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she gasped, burying her face into her bosom.

If she could have seen, she probably wouldn't have understood the furious look her grandmother gave Artie from above her head. “Go,” her grandmother said, her voice curt, a hangover from her schoolteacher days.

He went. He turned and fled just as the children in her classroom had when she used _that_ voice.

She rocked Lizzie gently on the front step, murmuring a prayer of thanks into her hair.

But if she knew, if Sam had told her what she'd said to him...how she'd run away from him...and then if she knew that her own dad didn't want her...would she hold her as she was now? Would Sam let her come home? Was she at her grandma’s now because he didn't want to see her? Why was he over in Europe? Was he enjoying being relieved of his burden? She wouldn't blame him really.

“Grandma,” her voice wobbled. “Will dad let me...come home?”

Her grandmother's startling response was an awful, low, pained sound, like the cry of a wounded animal. She held Lizzie to her even tighter, keening over her. “Your dad has been looking for you honey. He sold the apartment and went looking for you.”

Lizzie stepped back, her eyes wide. “That's why he's in Europe? He's been trying to find me? For how long?”

The stooped, grey haired older woman sniffed, reaching for her front pocket and pulling out a starched, white handkerchief with yellow daffodils embroidered in the corners. She dabbed her eyes with it.  “Almost the whole time. Your aunty and I looked after the arrangements for the apartment and he flew over there. He's been trying to hire a private investigator, someone who speaks Italian.”

“But we haven't been in Italy for ages!”

Her poor grandma drooped. “We know that _now_. He's on his way home, Lizzie. He wanted to talk to you on the phone but that would have delayed his flight so he didn't stop.”

Lizzie blinked back her tears furiously. “So he wants me back? I just...I don't think I have anywhere else to go.”

“Oh...my...my Lizzie.” She took a step back, her arms still curled protectively around her granddaughter. “Come into the house,” she said quietly, her voice trembling.

 

* * *

 

 

Her grandma had assured her that she was wanted, that her dad had been searching everywhere for her.

“Everywhere he went in the south of Italy,” her grandmother spat bitterly, “he was stymied by connections of _that man_. No matter who who spoke to, he was told no one would dare take the job of trying to find you. The name of Raymond Reddington being talisman enough to send them fleeing like a pack of scared dogs, tails between their legs.” Grandma took a shuddering breath, trying to still her trembling fingers by clasping them together. “I blame myself. There was a time I treated Raymond like a son in this house. He had the run of it when his family moved here. I had no idea honey...just no idea.”

Lizzie shook her head mutely, unable to tell her grandmother that it wasn't Raymond's fault. She must have done something. But she listened and slowly she learned of her father's search, how he'd even met some of the people down in the village where Rosa and Simon lived. But they’d all known better than to give away Reddington’s private information. None of it felt quite real. Lizzie sat at the kitchen table, at the same old, vinyl, green upholstered chair that she'd sat on each summer until her feet finally reached the ground and she hadn't come to visit her grandma as often, instead wanting to hang out with newly made friends.

She looked around the kitchen drearily. Grandma was putting the kettle on. Her back was turned to her, as she hovered over the stove.

The house was small but snug, it had been her favourite place to be when they used to move around a lot. A refuge, peaceful and always the same. Nothing ever changed in this house. The furniture had been her grandma’s when she'd come to this house with her young family. She had a TV in the kitchen that was still black and white. She'd successfully resisted aunt June’s efforts to get her to modernise.

Grandma turned around to pop tea bags into two delicate China cups sitting on the counter top.

She smiled a small reluctant smile. “Grandma, I don't drink tea.”

“Her grandma looked up, blinking at her. “Today, I think is a day for exceptions. Don't worry, dear, I'll pop enough sugar into it that you'll think it's a soda.”

Rolling her eyes would be rude, so she kept the smile on her face, watching as her grandma poured the tea and stirred in the sugar. She accepted the cup with whispered thanks, awkwardly watching as her grandma took a seat across from her.

There was a hint of steel around the old woman's mouth and eyes. It was always there but particularly noticeable today. “Lizzie, your father...Sam...he never told me the details of your adoption until...until he told us that Raymond...his friend Raymond, was...is your natural father. I didn't know dear, until he took you away. He told me about the money. And I'll admit, I was inclined to advise him to use it to assist in his search for you but he refused. He said he'd only use it if things became desperate.” She stopped there, bringing her handkerchief to her eyes once more.

Lizzie’s mouth trembled, her eyes blurred again with tears. It was terrible to see her grandma so upset. She was the only grandchild. Aunt June hadn't had children. She'd never married, never wanted a child, she'd been perfectly happy to be an aunt and she did enough mothering anyway for all of them put together.

The only grandchild and she'd caused this much distress. It was all her fault, she realised that now. She laced her fingers together, bowing her head over her cup of tea, unable to look her grandmother in the eyes.

Her grandma reached out a hand to cover her own tightly clasped ones. “Lizzie, your father loves you,” she said sadly. “I don't know what that man said to you but I'm sure it was a pack of lies.”

At that, another waves of tears engulfed her.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you still play Bridge on Saturdays,” asked Lizzie timidly from her quiet position on her grandma’s comfortable floral couch the morning after her arrival.

She'd spent an uneasy night in the room that her grandma always set aside just for her. The small one at the back of the house that grandma would also use as a sewing room. The single bed was positioned against the far wall and as she tried to sleep that night she'd watched the shadows on the walls, dully imagining the sewing machine in the corner as a monster that would tear her to shreds if she closed her eyes.

She'd almost welcomed the idea. Perhaps if something could physically attack her, run a needle down her face and arms, her pain would be visible. As it was, she hadn't wanted to wake up in the morning to a pain like that, so sharp and intense it made her nauseous.

“I cancelled Bridge this week, honey. I didn't think...I thought...well, you need a bit of quiet time. And your father should be arriving today. You don't need a gaggle of old ladies hooting about in the house.

Lizzie smiled wanly at the image, watching her grandma fuss around the room, pretending to clear away and straighten things that didn't need straightening. She had her legs tucked under her and a cushion held tightly to her chest. Her dad was supposed to arrive soon and she was both desperate to see him and terrified almost to the point of tears of what he might say. What should she say to him?

Just at that moment, the doorbell rang and her heart seized painfully before she remembered that her dad had a key to his mother’s house and would be unlikely to bother ringing the doorbell today of all days. She watched her grandmother leave the room and head to the front door, frozen in place, tensely waiting to see if it was someone connected to Sam or Raymond. It could be a friend of her grandma’s for all she knew. It could be a salesman or anyone.

“Lizzie,” called her grandma from the hall.

That galvanized her. Untucking her legs, she scrambled from her place of comfort and ducked swiftly through the kitchen and into the hall. At the door stood her very confused looking grandma and a man with a grey baseball cap on, holding a small purple pet carrier that wobbled occasionally as if the animal inside was pacing frantically. Lizzie heard a familiar yowl and tears thickened her throat.

She leapt towards the man, intending to grasp at Lola’s cage but she was headed off grimly by her grandma. The old lady had thrust both arms out, pushing Lizzie back and at the same time pushing the man a step backward onto her front porch.

“This man says he's delivering your cat. Is it yours Lizzie?”

“Yes! Please grandma, don't send him away. It's Lola, she's mine. I've had her since she was a kitten. She loves me. Please let me have her,” begged Lizzie breathlessly.

Her grandma nodded grimly. “That's fine then,” she said, turning back to the man in the grey cap. “You may put the carrier down and leave. There is no need for you to come in.”

Judging by the man's quiet acceptance of her grandmother's instructions, this wasn't just a courier, this was one of her dad’s people. He seemed to expect this reception.

“Please tell me,” said Lizzie, words tumbling from her mouth as she took a step forward, “is my da-” she gave her grandma a quick look. “Is Raymond okay? I don't know what happened. Will he call me? Please tell him to call me.”

“I'm sorry,” said the man uncomfortably as he placed the carrier on the landing, “I don't have any further instructions.”

He turned to go and Lizzie would have leapt after him, grabbed at his arm, begged for something, anything from her dad, even if he could deliver a message, just something he could take back to wherever her dad was. She'd be waiting, any time of the day or night, he could call her and she'd be ready.

But her grandmother was too quick, catching her around her middle and pulling her gently inside, swiping up the cat carrier as she closed the door on the retreating back of the last connection she had left with her dad.

Staring down at the carrier for a moment, she felt nothing but loss. Then, an aching stab of love broke through. Her Lola was here. Shamefully, she knelt to open the door of the carrier. She hadn't even thought of Lola since she'd been bundled onto the plane. She made up for it now as her beautiful sleek grey cat leapt into her arms, giving her a gentle bite on the ear and yowling at her as if to punish her for her brief abandonment.

“My, that's a fine looking cat,” said her grandma in admiration. “Lola, did you say? I can see she's certainly attached to you. Why don't we get her settled and I'll call the neighbours young boy and see if he wouldn't mind going to the store for us to pick up some cat food.”

Lizzie smiled as she caressed her cat, burying her face into the soft grey fur. It was funny how her grandma persisted in calling her neighbours son a boy. He'd be perhaps 19 by now. She was glad to know that he still helped her grandma though. The family next door had always been very friendly with her grandma. It was one of the reasons her dad felt okay about moving them around so often instead of living nearby like aunt June did.

I'll take her to the sewing room and get her settled in,” said Lizzie quietly. She's an outside cat some of the time but it's so far from...from…”

“Yes, I understand dear,” said grandma briskly. “We'll need to get a litter tray, some litter, plenty of food and a few bowls. My, it's been awhile since I've had a cat in the house. I'll have to tell you about a ginger tom I had when I was a girl,” she said, trailing off as she left the room to telephone the neighbours.

Lizzie clutched her cat to herself, desperately hoping this was a sign that her dad was coming back for her. Maybe he wanted to reunite the whole family? Maybe he just wanted Sam and grandma and June to be a part of her life again and he'd come and live in Nebraska.

 _It could happen_ , she told herself feverishly, her thoughts only derailed as Lola squirmed out of her grip.

She hadn't realized she'd been clutching at her pet too hard.


	39. Chapter 39

Sam marched through the front gate of his mother’s house, heart hammering in his chest. He was incredibly weary, not tired, the adrenaline he felt wouldn't allow for that. But he _was_ weary, he felt the most fragile he'd ever felt in his life before.

He'd gotten a brief call from Raymond at the cheap hotel he'd been staying at in Naples days ago. He'd only said he was returning Elizabeth home. They tried it and it hadn't worked out. He thought she would be best with Sam. He'd said he would send her to his mother’s house.

Fury ballooned in his chest as he thought of how Raymond hadn't let him get a word in edgewise. He'd just hung up.

And the fact that he'd called his hotel could only mean he'd been perfectly aware of his every move in trying to get Lizzie back.

Prick.

He pulled his house keys out of his pocket, opening the front door quietly. He felt nausea and chest pain. He wondered briefly if he was having a heart attack. But he couldn't be, he couldn't allow it at a time like this. He had to see his daughter.

“Mom?” He called out, poking his head into the kitchen. His mother was bent over the oven, withdrawing a batch of her chocolate chip cookies.

Her face broke out into a relieved smile at his appearance. She set the cookies down on a cooling rack. “Sam,” she said, reaching for him, oven mitts and all. She folded him into a fierce hug. “She's in the attic, sorting out some old photos albums for me. I thought it might help.”

He gave his mother a quick kiss on the cheek, dropping his duffel bag on the kitchen table and hastening out of the kitchen. But his mom called him back.

“Sam,” she said urgently.

He turned back, impatient to see Lizzie again.

She hesitated. “Something's...wrong. I mean, something awful has happened...I believe. He's a criminal now isn't he? Could he have exposed her to violence? Dangerous situations? I haven't asked her, Sammy, but I'm worried for her. Just don't...overwhelm her. She blames herself for being sent home. But she isn't upset to be back or causing a fuss. She mostly just...sits and stares at nothing. He sent a cat to her, apparently it was hers over there. She's  been petting it most of the day but that's about all the life I can get out of her.”

His stomach clenched. What had Raymond _done_?

He nodded at his mother and turned to bound up the stairs, two at a time. He reached the attic in no time, crawling into the space where his mother stored all their old photo albums and his and June’s childhood toys.

“Lizzie,” was all he could say, his voice breaking over her name.

She had her back to him, crouched down on the floor, poring over an album of a few Christmases ago. She'd been ten and Santa had brought her a pink bicycle. She looked up, startled, so engrossed in her own memories that she hadn't heard him come up.

She rose on trembling knees, “daddy,” she said shakily. Fear and shame and pained pleading strained her small voice, “please don't be angry at me.”

He made an involuntary noise, striding across the room to pick her up in a bear hug. “Butterball, I'm so relieved, so, so relieved you're home. I'm not angry Lizzie. I'm so sorry I let you go. I should have said no, I should have trusted my instincts. I'm so sorry kiddo, can you forgive me?”

He never cried, not when his father died when he was a teenager, not when the love of his life broke up with him the week he'd intended to propose, not when he'd been searching for her all these long months. But he cried now, silent tears running down his face as he bought his hands to her face, almost reassuring himself that she was real, not some phantom that could evaporate at any moment.

And she was real, painfully so. She looked terrible, and older than her years with her sharp new haircut, all modern, jagged edges, so different from her natural, wavy style. She hadn't lost any pounds but her face was pinched somehow and her frame hunched inwards, as though she carried a great weight across her shoulders. Her eyes were big and haunted, deep set in her face. The purple smudges under them were an indication of how little she'd been sleeping.

He searched her face carefully for signs of violence. What could have caused this change in her? Why had Ray gone to so much trouble to take her away and then cast her aside like trash? He hadn't explained. As deeply grateful as he was that his daughter was safe at home, he was furious at the idea that she had grown attached to Ray and he'd rejected her.

Her jerked his head sideways. “Come on, your grandma just made cookies. Let's go downstairs.

 

* * *

 

 

“Butterball, up you get. You've got school, kiddo.”

Lizzie blinked tiredly, staring at the clock radio on her nightstand. Her grandmother had retrieved her sewing things and turned the room into a small bedroom for her. Sam slept in the guest room and had enrolled her in the local high school. He was doing odd jobs around the house for grandma and had been working some casual hours at a local canning factory. It wasn't his usual thing but he had said he needed to keep his hands busy and he wasn't comfortable slipping into petty theft in the small town his mother lived in.

Lizzie rolled over in bed, a heavy and dull acceptance in her bones. It wasn't that she didn't want to go to school. She just didn't care. It had been a few weeks now and she'd called Artie's cell every day. Most days he didn't answer but once or twice he'd picked up and she'd had an awkward conversation. It went the same way each time. Pleading and desperate on her side and stiff and sorrowful on his. He never budged though, never passed the phone to her dad.

Lizzie's stomach cramped, thinking of her father and how much he had loved her. He had promised he'd never leave her again, he would watch her do the smallest thing like she was an angel in his sights and she couldn't believe that was all gone. No one lost that amount of love so quickly, did they?

Silently, she sat up in bed, throwing the covers off and planting her feet onto the rug. If she stayed in bed and didn't move, her grandma would try and make her go to the psychologist like she had last week.

It had been awful. The waiting room had been small and twee, white picture frames and white couches with a frilly white tissue box cover centered on the glossy white coffee table, where a few scientific magazines lay fanned out. A fish tank had sat in the corner on a heavy wooden frame. Lizzie had idly watched the occasional tropical fish move around in the watery ferns. The therapist had been nice enough but she didn't _want_ to talk and the probing questions had enraged her. How dare they ask her if she felt suicidal! How dare they ask her if she wanted to talk about being kidnapped! She hadn't been kidnapped at all and it was none of anyone's business how she felt. And her dad had a brief and urgent talk with her about some of the things she couldn't mention to the therapist for safety reasons. There really had been nothing to talk about so she'd sat there sullenly, answering with monosyllabic grunts. The idea of going back there left her feeling queasy and if all she had to do to avoid it was go to school and pretend to make new friends, well she could do that.

It felt like limbo. A perpetual state of waiting in a grey and dreary landscape. She smiled when others smiled, answered mundane questions with words that she knew they wanted to hear and sat with some kids at school so she could say she'd made some friends.

Her clothes had been sent with her from Switzerland. Her grandma had sorted through them with a keen eye but hadn't found anything to complain about. So she wore designer clothes to school and found that it attracted a small amount of jealous criticism and jeering from other students but there were a few girls who were shallow enough to hang on to the new girl with the Burberry tote bag and the Armani skirts and blouses.

It wasn't that hard with those girls. They saw the clothes, not her. It was easy to talk about shopping and makeup and nails instead of all the things that were waiting to burst out of her like how it felt in her father's arms, how much she missed his deep voice and his comforting smell.

Lizzie ate her breakfast mechanically. Toast with her grandma’s homemade strawberry jam. Lola sat in the corner of the kitchen, greedily wolfing down her own breakfast.

Her grandma was already halfway through her own breakfast at the table, placidly drinking her tea and eating her plain buttered toast. She pursed her lips. “How would you like to help me weed the flower gardens after school?”

Lizzie swallowed. “Okay, sure,” she said, smiling briefly.

“I've bought you some new gardening gloves. Your father did the vegetable patch for me last weekend but the flower bed at the back fence needs some neatening up.”

Life was reassuringly boring again. No thrills or glitter. Part of her was grateful for the quiet and the sameness of life but there was another part that wouldn't stop aching, wouldn't let her give up trying to get Raymond to acknowledge her.

She could fix it if only he'd _tell_ her what she'd done.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam took the steps two by two, carefully avoiding the creaking step third from the top. He had his suspicions about who she'd been calling in her bedroom. She had been taking the hall telephone into her bedroom every night, telling him that she'd made some friends from her new school and wanted to chat.

He had a niggling feeling this wasn't the case.

He hesitantly approached her bedroom door. She'd left it open just a crack to allow for the telephone cord. It didn't reach all the way to her bed so he could hear her, she must be seated on the floor just behind her door.

“Artie, please, please just let me talk to him,” she cried, the misery in her voice stabbing him in the chest.

“I just want to know what I did, tell him I love him. Tell him I'm sorry, whatever it is, I can fix it. _Please_ Artie.”

She was silent for a while. He leaned against the wall, his whole frame sagging a little against his mother's floral wallpaper. What _had_ happened? Ray had kept her so long, had destroyed their trust and friendship and all for what? What had been done? He needed to know. His kid wasn't right and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Tell him,” she began again hoarsely, “tell him I didn't tell anyone about us. Tell him I would _never_. No! Artie, please just let me talk to him! Don't hang up!”

The click of the handset falling into its cradle.

And a muffled wail.

His heart twisted, feeling as though it were leaping up out of his throat.

_Us?_

_What the hell did that mean?_

He straightened up and squared his shoulders. Enough was enough.

“Lizzie,” he called in the strongest voice he could manage.

He heard her gasp as he strode forward, pushing her door open.

She was lying curled up on the carpet around the telephone, her face red and blotchy with tears, clutching an amber bracelet in her fist.

“Butterball, we need to have a talk,” he said kindly but firmly.


	40. Chapter 40

Raymond Reddington entered his suite cautiously. He was in Mexico City for an arms deal and had found Artie incapacitated moments earlier. He'd discovered him unconscious in one of the service elevators.

Whoever was in his suite now had done this. After sending his daughter away, he hadn't felt the need for excessive security, often taking only Artie with him on business. But Artie was one of the best, so either he had an ambush waiting for him or there was someone here that was better than Artie. Interestingly they'd deliberately left his bodyguard unconscious but alive. The worst he'd have is a headache. So whoever was here just wanted to talk to him. At least for the time being.

His mind raced through a catalog of his enemies, attempting to place who was likely to do this. He turned on the light for the living room, doing an efficient sweep of the room. Nothing there.

He crept into the main bedroom and turned on the light. Nothing.

There was only one more bedroom.

He stealthy slithered his way in, turning the light on, his revolver at the ready.

A sight he did not expect met his eyes.

Sam was sitting in an arm chair in the corner, a small handgun resting on his knee. He was holding an amber bracelet in his hands, working his fingers through the bracelet as if it were a strand of rosary beads.

He looked up slowly. “Raymond. I've been wondering. Did you come for her in her own bed or did you take her into yours?” He leaned back in his seat, a granite look on his face.

Raymond wondered if he was going to make it out of this room alive.

He wondered if he truly wanted to.

“It's a smaller room, this one,” Sam continued, looking around him. “Small enough to be a nursery. A child's room. Did that suit you? Was it all set up precisely the way you wanted it?”

“Are you here to make me pay, Sam?” He asked lightly. “Are you her avenging angel?”

“I'm her father,” he shot back sharply. “And what are you, Ray? The angel of the morning? Lucifer in disguise?”

Raymond blanched at the comparison. He knew he was a monster, the devil. If Sam were to kill him now, it would only be what he deserved. For the first time in perhaps forever, he felt like a mouse before a snake. He couldn't move, the words that bubbled to his lips sealed off before they could do further damage. His lips pressed tightly together and he stood, hands by his sides, like a penitent waiting for a lord’s judgement.

Sam gazed at him fixedly. He snorted suddenly, shaking his head. “Raymond, when I was looking for her all those months, holed up in shitty bedsits, I had a lot of time to think. To think about going on, if I should, you know? Every PI I spoke to seemed to know your name and no amount of money could convince them to take the case. It'd be sitting there, bills stuffed in an envelope between us on the table and every time, Raymond, _every time_ they'd look at it longingly. I sold everything I had to afford this, so it wasn't as though I couldn't afford to be generous. But not once did anyone reach across the table to take that money.” Sam's eyes still hadn't left his friend’s face, but a film of moisture had started to appear in them as he gripped the amber bracelet, still pulling it through his fingers, bead by bead.

Red cleared his throat. “I'd arranged-”

“Yeah, I know you'd got to them. All of them. It's funny, they all said the same thing. They'd say to me, why? Why are you doing this? Isn't she his natural daughter? Best let sleeping dogs lie.” Sam sat back in the armchair further and sucked in a breath as though he were dealing all over again with the pain and misery of that time. “But something kept me going. Dozens of times I thought to myself, no, Raymond loves her. He doesn't give a shit about me anymore, doesn't care that I parented that little girl and have some stake in her wellbeing, but he loves her. I almost went home a few times you know? But then I remembered every one of those PI’s. Their faces so full of fear at your name. You don't see people anymore do you? You just see pieces on a chessboard. That shouldn't include your own daughter but I had a feeling it might so I stuck it out.”

“I wasn't ready...for a teenager. I should have come earlier. I should have…” He trailed off, looking away briefly, just enough time to pull himself together and then looked back at Sam, whose face hadn't lost its stony grimness. His eyes were glittering like burning rocks.

Sam’s voice though, it cracked and splintered as he spoke, shearing as sharp as spears through Raymond's chest.

“She can't say all the things that she'll want to say over the years. She can't speak of your betrayal yet, but she will. She's going to understand that she did nothing wrong, _nothing_ , do you hear me?” He said, sitting forward again, rage twisting his features so that he no longer seemed as hard as stone, now he seemed more like a man being broken on a rack.

Red watched Sam carefully, his old friend’s hands were still tangled in the bracelet and his knees were pressed so hard together they were trembling. The man was strung as tight as he could go and Red was on alert in case he snapped, although if he did, what he should respond with was beyond him at that moment. Perhaps he should let him make an end of it.

There was no moisture left in Red’s mouth. He swallowed anyway, the sides of his throat sticking together painfully. “I hear you.”

Sam stood up. He was a tall man. He pulled himself to his full height. “I came here to give you one message Raymond”

He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment as if in some silent struggle. “If it were up to me, I would have shot you the moment you stepped into this room. It's my job to sweep away the monsters under the bed because _I'm_ her father. But God help me, she still loves you. She begged me not to hurt you. So I've come here with a warning. Lizzie is going to rebuild her life with the help of her family and those who love her. If you _ever_ step one toe into her life again...I mean this with everything I am so listen to me Raymond...if you ever...for any reason step a toe into her life again...know that I will kill you.”

Raymond nodded. It was only to be expected.

He watched as his former friend walked out of the room and out of his life, leaving him with his own life intact. He looked over again to the chair Sam had been sitting in. He startled, taking a step toward the chair reflexively.

Sam had left the amber bracelet behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect the amount of love and support that I received while writing this fic. I was amazed and humbled. This fic is a self healing/self exploration for me and at times I wasn't sure if I should continue. I'm glad I did.
> 
> There have been extraordinarily insightful reviews left here and I thank you for that. I can see that there are readers out there who have been similarly abused and have hinted at how this fic has helped them too. I didn’t realise when I started this that others might benefit too. If this fic has helped anyone else, I'm so glad.
> 
> I particularly owe a great debt to NeedTheDark who held my hand the whole way through this, who has been endlessly supportive, honest and gentle in her feedback and just an amazing friend. I couldn’t have finished this without you. Much love.


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